
B.v bequest of 

William lukens Shoemaker 



NEW BOOKS. 



ABRAIMM SMALL, No. 165, Chesnut street, 

HAS JUST PUBLISHED, 

MEMOIR OF JOHN AIKIN, M. D. 

BY LUCY AIKIN, 

Author of the Life of Queen Elizabeth, and James L 

With a selection of his Miscellaneous Pieces, Biographical, 
Moral and Critical. 

IN ONE VOLUME, 8vo. 

CONTENTS.— IVIemnir of John Aikin, M. D. Critical Ensays on En^lisi. 
Poets — Account of the Life and Works ot Spencer; An Essay on the I'oetiy of Mil- 
ton ; An Essay on the Heroic Pot- m of Gondibert ; Critical Rpniarks on Dryilcu>- 
Fables; Observations on Pope's Essay on Man; An Essay on the Plan and Char-HC- 
ter of Thomson's Seasons ; A Conipanson between Thomson ami Cowper as De- 
scriptive Poets; Essay on the Poems of Green ; A Ci'itical Essay on Soiiiei-viile's 
Poem of thtThe Chase; An Essay on the Poetry of Goldsmith. JVIiscellaneous 
Pieces — Aphorisms on Mind and Manners; What Man is made for ; On ti>e Touch 
for the King's Evil ; Literary Prophecies for 179'; Remarks on the Charge of Ja- 
cobinism ; On the Probability of a future Melioration of the State of Mankind ; On 
Toleration in Russia ; Military Piety ; Inquiry into the Nature of Family Pride ; 
Apology for the Demolition of Ruins ; Inquiry into the essential Character of Man ; 
riioughls on the Formation of Character ; On Self- Biographers ; On the atlachineni 
to Mary, Queen of Scots ; On the Imitative Principle ; Historical Relations of Poi- 
sonings ; A Word for Philosophy ; On Cant; On Mottoes. Appendix — Descriptions 
of Vegetables from the Roii.an Poets; Biographical Account of the Rev. Dr. En- 
field ; Description of the Country about Dorking; Biographical Account of Richard 
Pulteney, M. D.; Memoir of Gilbert Wakefield, B. A.; Memoir of Joseph Priest- 
ley, L. L. D. F. R. S.; Memoir ot James Currie, M. D.; Memoir of the Rev. Geo. 
Wnlker. 



A. S. has in press, and will publish in a few days, 

PERCY MALLORY, 

IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. 
BY THE AUTHOR OF PEN OWEN. 



THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA, 

IN 2 VOLS. 12mo. 
Said to be by the author of Anastasius. 

Extract from the Westminster Rexiieiu. 
" This is a Persian Gil Bias, certainly not quite so full of genius as (he amusing 
work of Le Sage, nor yet falling below it to an unmeasureabje distance ; something 
is wanting in the writer, as much or more in the nation to whom his iiero belongs. 
Persia is the best scene tor a light-hearted adventurer, after Spain ; but it is in vain 
to look els' where for the same rich materials of romance as are to be found in the 
manners, pursuits, occupations, and government of the latter most remarkable coun- 
try. Likt Gil Bias, Hajji Baba is tossed about from rank to rank with all that sud- 
denness of '-levation and depression which can oidy happen in a despotic tjovernment, 
where the fortunes of all men depend upon the will ot one, and where, for the quick 
dispateh of business or pleasure, the tedious forms of law and justice are dispensed 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

with. These rapid changes present every advantage to the novelist, and from his 
intimate acquaintance with the manners of Persia, the aiithor of this book has been 
able to avail himself of them to a very great extent. Indeed, such is this writer's fa- 
miliar, almost native knowledge of the people he describes, that we may assert with 
some confidince, that there ai'e not ten men in tlie country, who are, from their lo- 
cal expei'ieiice, qualified to have produced the adventures of Hajji Haba. We may 
a<ld,lco, that such is our opinion of the talent displayed in them, that on that ac- 
count alone we should not be inclined to increase that number very considerably, 
were we required to say how many were capable of writing them at all with the same 
easy humour, the same felicitous strokes of satire, the same vigorous delineations of 
character." 

Extract from the London Literary Gazette. 

" The Adventures of HajjiBaba present us (if we may use the phrase) with a mo- 
ral and moving panorama of Persian, Curdisfi, Turcoman, and Turkish manners. 
We know only two books in the language, published since our Gazette commenced, 
which this work resembles ; namely, Anastasins, and the Memoirs of Artemi, witli 
both of which our readers may remember we were much delighted. And though 
the story-chain of Hajji wants the intense interest of the former of these, it is 'igreat 
favourite with us, and will, we \.h\n\i , greutly please the majority of readers. 

" The whole narrative brings the national traits of the diflerent Asiatics very vi- 
vidly before us; and at the conclusion we have clearer notions than any Travels 
could give us of Persian cunning, duplicity, tyranny, and avarice ; of Turkish pride, 
rapacity, and oppression ; of the ferocity of one tribe, and the servility of another ; 
and in general of the strange effects of political despotism and a formal sensual reli- 
gion in rendering Man a creature inexpressibly cruel and unjust to those below, base 
nnd slavish to those above him, and false and heartless to all." 



MONTGOMERY'S NEW WORK. 
PROSE BY A POET. 

IN 2 VOLS. 18mo. 

Extract from the Westminster Heview, 
" This is an amiable and pleasing little work, of good native fancy, atid what, per« 
haps, the author himself does not suspect, liumour. Though inclined to quarrel with 
the title, we had not read far before we were assured that the author was not only a 
ioi disant poet — nay, wemoreover discovei-ed, not only thathe was a bonajide poet, 
but we had no difficulty on proceeding a little further, in detecting under the gene- 
ral designation, the excellent author of " the Wanderer oj Switzerland." The pa- 
rent feelings of philanthropy have always distinguished that amiable man ; and thef 
never, perhaps, were displayed more conspicuously or more amiably than in these 
very entertaining and instructive essays.'' 

Extract from the London Literary Gazette. 
" These are very pleasing productions. The Prose of a writer of not only poetical 
feeling and imagination, but of one gifted with a fine mind, replete with graceful sen- 
timents, original thoughts, and delightful fancies. The language, too, is worthy of 
the matter, easy and elegant." 



PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF WM. COWPER, Esq. 

With some of his most intimate Friends. 

EDITED BY J. JOHNSON, L. L. D. &c. 

IN ONE VOL. 8V0. 

Extract from the London Literary Gazette. 
"We were acquainted with the value of this delightful Work in manuscript, and 
rnoicf to say it is now on the eve of publication : a more pleasing and mtf llectual 
treat the literary world could hardly ivceive. The mingled character of Cowperjs 
finely displayed in these Letters, and they are full of anecdote and remark upon the 
literature of the preceding generation." 



MEMOIR 



OF 



JOHN AIKIN, M. D. 



BY LUCY AIKIN. 



WITH A SELECTION OF HIS 



BIOGRAPHICAL, MORAL AND CRITICAL. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED BY ABRAHAM SMALL. 
1824, 



Gift 
W. L. Shoemaker 

7 S '06 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Memoir of John Aikin, M.D. ..---- 8 

CRITICAL ESSAYS ON ENGLISH POETS. 

Account of the Life and Works of Spencer, - - - - 161 

An Essay on the Poetry of Milton, - - - - - -169 

An Essay on the Heroic Poem of Gondibert, - - - - 195 

Critical Rpraarks on Dryden's Fables, . _ - - - 216 

Observations on Pope's Essay on Man, ----- 232 

An Essay on the Plan and Character of Thomson's Seasons, - - 243 

A Comparison between Thomson and Cowper as Descriptive Poets, - 259 

Essay on Dr. Amstiong's Art of Preserving Health, - - - 270 

Essay on the Poems of Green, ------ 283 

A Critical Essay on Soraerville's Poem of The Chase, - - - 293 

An Essay on the Poetry of Goldsmitli, . . - - - 301 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Aphorisms on Mind and Manners, - . - - - - 312 

What Man is made for ------ - 313 

On the Touch for the King's Evil, .-.--- 315 

Literary Prophecies for 1797, ._---- 318 

Remarks on the Charge of Jacobinism, _ - - - - 320 

On the Probability of a future Melioration in the Slate of Mankind, - 321 

On Toleration in Russia, ------- 332 

Military Piety, --------335 

Inquiry into the Nature of Family Pride, .... - 336 

Apology for the Demolition of Ruins, ----- 344 

Inquiry into the essential Character of Man, . - , - 348 

Thoughts on the Formation of Character, , . „ - 355 



iv CONTENTS. 

On Self-Biographers, --...._, ^q^ 

On the attachment to Mary, Queen of Scots, . - . , 374 

On the Imitative Principle, ----.__ 377 

Historical Relations of Poisonings, - - . _ _ 334 

A Word for Philosophy, -----.. 392 

On Cant, -.__.. ... 307 

On Mottoes, .. ....... 4q3 



APPENDIX. 

(A.) Descriptions of Vegetables from the Roman Poets, - - - 409 

(B.) Biographical Account of the Rev. Dr. Enfield, - - . 42O 

(C.) Description of the Country about Dorking, - - . _ 433 

(D.) Biographical Account of Richard Pulteney,M.D. - - _ 440 

(E.) Memoir of Gilbert Wakefield, B. A. - - - - 449 

(F.) Memoir of Joseph Priestley, L. L. D. F. R. S. - - - 46» 

(G.) Memoir of James Currie, M. D. - . . . . 475 

*H.) Memoir of the Rev. George Walker, - - - . - 485 



PREFACE. 



A FEW words will suffice to explain to the reader the 
object of the present publication, and the plan on which 
it has been conducted. 

To make known to the world as a ma7i one with whom 
it had so long been acquainted as an author^ appeared to 
the editor both a due tribute to the talents and virtues of 
her father, and a proper indulgence of a species of curi- 
osity not less reasonable than it is natural. 

The generally even tenor of Dr. Aikin's life, and the 
retirement from active pursuits in which the latter years of 
it were passed, seemed to her no sufficient objections 
to making it the theme of a detailed narration ; — for, be- 
sides that a man of merit, in any class, and under any cir- 
cumstances, may be accounted a worthy object of con- 
templation to his fellow men, — it is well known that some 
of the most instructive and acceptable pieces of biography 
have been such as derived their interest from the unfold- 
ings of character and sentiment, rather than the bustle of 
incident, or the splendour of description. 

Nothing, however, could be further from her design 
than to intrude upon the attention of the public by the in- 
troduction of anecdotes or observations not strictly con- 



vi PREFACE, 

nected with the subject of the memoir, and by tvhich its 
efiect as a moral portraiture would be rather weakened 
than enforced ; on this account, only such extracts from 
Dr. Aikin's correspondence have been admitted, as ap- 
peared essential to the history of his Hfe, or the exhibition 
of his opinions and feelings on important topics ; and iu 
the composition of the memoir itself, a similar forbearance 
has been exercised. 

But the judgments passed by a man upon the moral 
and intellectual qualities of those with whom he lived or 
acted, form a very important feature in his own character ; 
and several such judgments of Dr. Aikin's have here been 
recorded, by appending to his own memoir those biogra- 
phical accounts of several of the most distinguished of his 
literary friends which it fell to his lot to compose. From 
these, a competent idea may be formed of his mode of 
estimating various kinds of merit and excellence ; and 
it is hoped that the suppression of such proofs of his just 
appreciation of living worthy as his private letters and the 
recollection of his conversation would readily have sup- 
plied to the editor, will be ascribed to none but its true 
motives — delicacy towards individuals, and respect for 
the implied confidences of family intercourse. 

The remaining contents of this volume, consisting of 
critical essays on several of the English poets, and of a 
selection of miscellaneous papers, have already appeared 
before the public ; — the essays, except that on Gondi- 
bert, in the shape of prefaces to editions of the respective 
poets, — the miscellaneous papers, as contributions to dif- 
ferent periodical works. But it was believed that it would 
prove agreeable to many readers to find that which was 
dispersed, collected, and that which was anonymous, 
avowed; and the editor was solicitous that the know- 
ledge of what appeared to her some of the choicest pro- 



PREFACE. vii 

ducts of her father's pen, should thus be revived and ex- 
tended. 

The subjoined list of Dr. Aikin's principal works is 
appended as a kind of summary of his efforts in the cause 
of useful knowledge and elegant literature. 

Observations on the external Use of Preparations of Lead, with 

some general Remarks on Topical Medicines. 
Thoughts on Hospitals. 
Essays on Song-writing, with a Collection of such English Songs 

as are most eminent for poetical merit. 
Miscellaneous Pieces in prose, (written in conjunction with Mrs. 

Barbauld.) 
An Essay on the Application of Natural History to Poetry. 
The Manners of the Germans, and the Life of Agricola, trans- 
lated from Tacitus, with copious Notes. 
Translation of Baume's Manuel de Chymie. 
Biographical Memoirs of Medicine in Great Britain to the time 

of Harvey. 
Lewis's Materia Medica, re-edited with large additions. 
A Manual of Materia Medica. 
England Delineated. 
Poems. 

A View of the Character and public services of J. Howard, Esq.; 
Evenings at Home, (written in conjunction with Mrs. Barbauld.) 
Letters from a Father to his Son on various topics relative to 

Literature and the Conduct of Life. 
A Description of the Country from thirty to forty miles round 

Manchester. 
General Biography, in 10 vols. 4to. (The articles marked A, 

amounting to nearly half the work ) 
Select Eulogies of the Members of the French Academy, by 

D'Alembert, translated ; with a Preface and Notes. 
The Arts of Life. 
The Woodland Companion, or an Account of British Forest 

Trees. 
Translation of Zschokke's Account of the Destruction of the 

Democratical Cantons of Switzerland ; with a Preface and 

Supplement. 
Letters to a Young Lady on a course of English Poetry. 



viii PREFACE. 

Geographical Delineations. 

Memoirs of the Life of Huet by himself, translated from the La- 
tin, with copious Notes, biographical and critical. 

Vocal Poetry. (A. much altered edition of Essays on Song-writing.) 

Essays, Literary and Miscellaneous. 

The Lives of John Selden and of Archbishop Usher, with Bio- 
graphical Notes. 

Annals of the Reign of George IIL 

Select Works of the British Poets, with biographical and critical 
Prefaces. 



3toke Newington, June, 1822. 



MEMOIR 



OF 



^®mM AimRm^ m^ m^ 



JOHN AIKIN, only son of the Rev. John Aikin, D. D. bj Jane 
his wife, daughter of the Rev. John Jennings, teacher of a dis- 
senting academy at Kibworth, was born at the same village of 
Kibworth-Harcourt, in Leicestershire, on January 15, 1747. His 
father, whom he never mentioned but with reverence, was the son 
«f a native of Scotland settled as a shopkeeper in London ; ori- 
ginally destined for a commercial life, he had occupied for a short 
time the situation of a French clerk in a merchant's counting- 
house, when, the air of London disagreeing with his health, he 
was placed for a time as a pupil with Dr. Doddridge, who suc- 
ceeded Mr. Jennings in his academy, and afterwards removed it 
to Northampton. In this situation the bent of his mind towards 
learning so strongly manifested itself, that he obtained his fa- 
ther's permission to change his views and devote himself to the 
Christian ministry. After finishing his course with Dr. Dod- 
dridge, he completed with distinction an extensive plan of study 
at the University of Aberdeen, and became Dr. Doddridge's as- 
sistant on his return. A respectable congregation at Leicester 
soon afterwards elected him their pastor; but just as he was en- 
tering upon the duties of his office, a disease of the lungs perma- 
nently incapacitated him as a preacher, and rendered him a vale- 
tudinarian for life, 

B 



10 MEMOIR OF 

Under these unfortunate circumstances, no other line of life 
remained open to him than that of an instructor of youth ; and 
after a short period of partnership with a gentleman of the name 
of Lee, he married, and opened a school of his own at Kibworth, 
which his diligence, his learning and abilities, and, above all, the 
excellence of his moral character, soon raised into repute. His 
two children, Mrs. Barbauld and the subject of this Memoir, 
were born to him while occupying this station of modest useful- 
ness ; and, next to the happiness of being the child of such a 
parent, his son always esteemed it his highest privilege to have 
been the pupil of such a teacher. He would also mention that 
his father was careful to guard him against the peculiar tempta- 
tions and inconveniences attending the situation of a schoolmas- 
ter's son ; strictly forbearing to question him on any occasion 
respecting the behaviour of his 3^oung companions, and strongly 
impressing him with the meanness of tale-bearing : so completely, 
he added, was he regarded as one of the boys, that he was more 
than once appointed by the rest to stand sentinel while they were 
engaged in stripping his father's fruit trees. 

The merit of the Rev. Mr. Aikin was at length the means of 
recommending him to a situation more worthy of him. A dis- 
senting academy on a liberal plan having been set up at War- 
rington in Lancashire, the trustees invited him to undertake the 
office of classical tutor; this he accepted, and in the year 1756 
removed thither with his family. 

His son, though only in his 12th year was so forward in his 
learning that he was immediately entered among the students 
and attended the lectures of his fatlier and the other tutors* 
Three diligent years past in this situation, enabled him to add a 
considerable superstructure of various knowledge to the firm 
grammatical foundation previously laid at Kibworth, and, what 
was of still more importance, imbued him indelibly with that love 
of letters which became at once the ornament and safeguard of 
his youth, and the occupation and solace of every succeeding pe- 
riod of his life. It was intended by this learned education to fit 
him for the study of divinity ; but the weakness of his voice, and 
perhaps the native vivacity of his temper, caused a change in hia 
destination ; he made his option in favour of the medical profes- 
sion, and was in consequence articled to Mr. Garthshore, a sur- 
geon and apothecary in considerable practice at Uppingham, in 
Rutlandshire. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. U 

There was no portion of his time which, on the review of life, 
Dr. Aikin regarded with so little complacency as the three im- 
portant years he was doomed to drag on in this irksome and un- 
instructive situation. To have placed him in it, he regarded as 
an error of judgment ascribable to a prepossession, frequent 
among parents of a serious turn and small acquaintance with the 
world, to whicii he observed that many young men within the 
sphere of his acquaintance had fallen lamentable victims. This 
prepossession consists in an undue preference of remote and ob- 
scure situations for youths during the period of apprenticeship, 
as sheltered from the temptations of great towns and cities, 
and comparatively favourable to innocence and virtue. "What," 
he would say, " can you possibly do worse with a youth than 
send him, from the comforts of a lettered and civilised home, 
to a master, probably of sordid habits, in a place where he 
can find none but gross and vulgar company if he seeks for 
any, and where sotting and low vice will be the only pastimes 
offered him for the amusement of his hours of leisure ?" Such a 
situation nearly, was his own at Uppingham, where he did not 
form a single intimacy. An elder apprentice, little congenial in 
manriers or studies, was the only companion of his own class that 
the place afforded ; the inn was the sole place of social recrea- 
tion, and the landlord's daughter " the Cynosure of neighbouring 
eyes." Nothing but his strong love of literature, and the con- 
scious superiority with which it already inspired him, could pro- 
bably have saved him at this time from sinking into a state of 
melancholy listlessness, though the restraints of morality and re- 
ligion should have withheld him from rushing to degradation and 
ruin. But this preservative proved, happily, effectual ; he applied 
himself with diligence and remarkable success to the business of 
his profession, conciliated by his excellent qualities and pleasing 
manners the esteem and affection of the family in which he was 
domesticated, and fulfilled this period of his probation creditably, 

if not happily. 

The monotony of his residence at Uppingham was, however, 
occasionally broken by visits to the neighbouring town of Lei- 
cester, made under circumstances peculiarly conducive both to 
• his pleasure and improvement. Mr. Pulteney, a particular friend 
of his father's, and, through his introduction, of Mr. Garthshore's, 
a man of a highly cultivated and philosophical mind and great 
sensibility of heart, was settled as an apothecary at this place •> 



U MEMOIR Ot 

and on particular emergencies he sometimes requested to borrow 
the assistance of his friend's pupil, Mr. Aikin. This was always 
granted with alacrity ; if Mr. Pulteney was at home, his conver- 
sation was rich in enjoyment to a youth who pined after the let- 
tered intercourse of his father's house ; if, as was more frequently 
the case, he was absent, Leicester was not 'destitute of a small 
circle of acquaintance capable of affording him high gratification, 
and in which he was received with distinguished kindness, at first 
for his father's sake, and afterwards for his own. It was here 
that he first tasted the charms of cultivated female society, which 
in after life formed so great a portion of his enjoyment ; one lady 
in particular, who, exemplary in the relations of wife and mo- 
ther, had yet a heart for friendship and talents for society, was 
long his standard of excellence for her sex ; and it was perhaps 
somewhat owing to this early impression, that he always placed 
the qualities of the understanding unusually high in his estimate 
of female perfection. 

Mr. Aikin had not completed the third year of his term at 
Uppingham, when Mr. Garthshore made over his business to a 
successor, having determined to take a doctor's degree at Edin- 
burgh. He prevailed upon Mr. Pulteney to adopt a similar 
resolution; but as it was this gentleman's purpose to return to 
Leicester, it was agreed that Mr. Aikin should take charge of 
his patients during his absence ; and he spent on this occasion 
two or three happy months in that town ; afterwards, there was 
no adequate motive for his remaining at Uppingham, and he was 
thus freed from his indentures two or three years earlier than the 
usual period. 

At the immature age, as he afterwards regarded it, of eighteea 
he was now sent to pursue his medical studies at the University 
of Edinburgh, then in high repute, and boasting the distinguished 
names of Black, Monro and Cullen, among its professors. This 
was, on the whole, a happy period of his life ; he rejoiced in his 
liberation from a state of irksome dependence ; he was animated 
by the society of companions eager in the same occupations and 
the same amusements, and prone, like himself, to knit those 
bonds of friendships which double the pleasures of youth, and 
often survive to soothe the cares of maturer life; above all, he 
entered with ardour into the business of the place, and daily saw 
fresh reason to congratulate himself on his choice of a profession. 
An agreeable picture of the state of his mind at this period, is 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 13 

afforded by the following passage of a letter to his dearest friend, 
— his affectionate and accomplished sister : 

" This I can assure you, I never found study so agreeable to 
me as at present. I am very much surprised the study of the 
structure and uses of the parts of the human body, is not tak«a 
into the plan of a learned education ; surely, no part of know- 
ledge can be more noble and entertaining, and more proper ftr 
the employment of the faculties ; what a pity the mind and body 
should be so little acquainted with each other ! It is indeed a 
subject full of doubts and difficulties ; but if men of genius were 
to apply to it, I should think great discoveries might be made. 
I often regret Sir Isaac Newton was not an anatomist. 

" My only books of amusement are the Latin poets ; and among 
them the elegant and tender Tibullus is my present favourite. 
I never met with so much softness, such inexpressibly tender 
strokes, as in his elegies ; in my opinion there are some single 
lines of his worth all the works of all the poets of his class put 
together. It is a pity there is no good translation of him ; Ham- 
mond indeed has taken a good deal from him with the true spirit 
of the original. Of what real consequence, my dear sister, is 
something of a taste for polite literature ! It promotes cheer- 
fulness with innocence ; and by that means is an excellent guard 
against running into vicious pleasures, and against being unfitted 
by hard study and low spirits for social life. Its chief fault is, 
being apt to make people vain ; and perhaps you will think it 
has had that efi'ect with me v;hen I tell you, that with the means 
of bread in my hands, and pleasure in my head, I despise the 
dull tradesman with his thousands, the country booby with his 
dogs and horses; and, above all, the mere town rake, whose 
pleasures are meaner and more mistaken." 

After two winters and the intermediate summer spent in this 
school of medicine, Mr. Aikin, in May, 1766, quitted Scotland, 
and went to pass a few months of leisure, but by no means of 
idleness, under the paternal roof. The flourishing state of the 
Warrington academy at this period, had redeemed this remote 
spot from barbarism, and rendered it a favourite haunt of the 
muses. Among the students were several youths of promising 
abilities and ingenuous manners, who, in after life, reflected hon 
our on the place of their education, both by their acquirements 
and their lasting attachment to their teachers. The tutors were, 
for the mathematicSj Mr, Holt, a man whose whole soul was ab- 



14 MEMOIR OF 

sorbed by his science ; for modern languages and some other 
branches of knowledge, Dr.Retnhold Forster, the naturalist, who 
afterwards accompanied Captain Cook in his circumnavigation ; 
t'le Rev. Mr. Aikin, on the death of the celebrated Dr. John 
Taylor, had succeeded to the post of tutor in divinity, and lec- 
tured with distinguished ability in ethics and metaphysics as well 

15 in theology ; and the department of classics and polite litera- 
ture was filled by Dr. Priestley. An excellent set of lectures in 
hstory, afterwards published, was delivered by this eminent per- 
son, who had also recently constructed his ingenious biographi- 
cal chart ; and, with that versatility which distinguished his pow- 
erful genius, was studying the phenomena of electrfcity, and com- 
mencing his original experiments on that branch of natural phi- 
losophy. The most cordial intimacy subsisted among the tutors 
and their families, with whom also the elder students associated 
on terms of easy and affectionate intercourse ; and while the va- 
rious branches of human knowledge occupied their graver hours, 
t:he moments of recreation were animated by sports of wit and 
ingenuity, well adapted to nerve the wing of youthful genius. 

But the claims of an active profession quickly summoned away 
Mr. Akin from the tranquil pursuits of learned leisure ; circum- 
stances also required of him the renewed sacrifice of that inde- 
pendence which he had enjoyed under the free system of a Scotch 
university ; and he submitted, without repining, to become once . 
more a pupil, under Mr. Charles White, a skilful surgeon then 
rising to eminence at Manchester. 

Few situations of the kind could have been better adapted to 
promote either his improvement or his happiness. The extensive 
private practice of Mr. White, and his connection with a large 
infirmary, allowed his pupil full scope for that love of employ- 
ment which marked him at all periods of his life ; no disagreea- 
ble services of any kind were imposed upon him, and he found 
himself treated in the family in all respects as a gentleman. 
.The town of Manchester, also, afforded him respectable and 
agreeable society to fill the intervals of business and study; and 
he had the good fortune to form a few congenial friendships, 
which ended only with the lives of the parties. Among those 
with whom his connection was most intimate and durable, may 
be named, the late Mr. Thomas Henry, Mr. James Touchet, the 
late T. B. Bayley, Esq. of Hope, and the late Thomas Percival. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 15 

M. D. who was previously known to him at Warrington, and as 
a fellow-student at Edinburgh. 

Professional pursuits took the lead wuth him at this tmie even 
in his voluntary studies, and he mentions in one of his letters 
that he seldom transgressed the rule of occupying a portion, at 
least, of each day's reading in medical \vorks. He translated 
from the French the whole of Pouteau's Melanges de Chirurgie,* 
and composed an Essay on the Ligature of Arteries, afterwards 
published with Mr. White's Cases in Surgery. 

But the muses still held divided empire in his heart ; his cor- 
respondence with his sister was thickly interspersed with criti- 
cal remarks on the Latin and English poets, not forgetting, 
among the latter, our early English dramatists, Massinger, Shir- 
ley, and Beaumont and Fletcher, whom sone happy chance had 
introduced to his acquaintance, and for wlom he had the cour- 
age to express all his admiration, at a petod v.'hen the French 
taste had banished them almost entirely boti from the stage and 
the closet. He also began to occupy himsilf in forming his col- 
lection of the choicest songs in our languap; and he frequently 
exercised his own pen, both in verse and )rose, in translation 
and in original composition, trying expiriments in different 
styles, treating a variety of subjects, am seeking to discover 
where his strength lay. A few of these jUvenile effusions he 
communicated anonymously to a London newspaper, and thus 
tasted the lively gratification of first seeing himself in print. To 
his sister, the beloved confidant of all his p-ojects, he writes thus 
on this subject : " I look upon these litth essays as the first 
flights of young birds, which give them bolmess and skill to take 
hereafter a larger circle. I have a strong lotion of becoming an 
author some time or other, though, ten toone, without half the 
knowledge of my subject that my father his of many on which he 
is too diffident to give his sentiments to t\e world." 

After a residence of three years in Manchester, he quitted it 
with sentiments of attachment to its iiiiabitants which never 
forsook him, and which were warmly rettrned on their parts. 

To complete his preparation for practice in the branch which 
he had chosen, that of surgery, nothing vas now wanting but an 
attendance of a few months on the Hospital Lectures in London ; 



' This translation was neVer published. 



16 MEMOIR OF 

and thither he bent Vis course in the winter of the year 1769, and 
became one of the /iuss of Dr. William Hunter. His maternal 
uncle, Mr. Arthur Jennings, then resident in Bloomsbury Square, 
offered him a home in his house during his abode in London ; 
and it was to the opportunities of domestic intercourse aiForded 
by this situation, that he ultimately owed what he justly regard- 
ed as the prime blessing of his life — his marriage. The object of 
his choice was Martha, youngest daughter of his worthy uncle by 
Martha Cornwall his first wife ; and he quitted London in the 
ensuing spring, full of those tender anticipations of conjugal fe- 
licity which suited his age and the sensibility of his temper, and 
which, in this instatjce, were destined to experience no disap- 
pointment ; and anxious only to place himself as speedily as pos- 
sible in such a situation as might authorise him to claim the pro- 
mised prize. 

The city of Cheste was mentioned to him as affording a fair 
prospect of success iij his professional career,- and thither he re- 
paired in the autumn|)f 1770. No proper efforts were wanting 
on his part to render jiimself known and acceptable in this new 
scene of action ; he nixed freely with the good society of the 
place, enjoying grealy the ease and cheerfulness by which it 
was at that time distiiguished ; formed several respectable and 
agreeable intimacies, nd gave proofs of his professional abilities 
by publishing " Obser[ations on the external use of preparations 
of lead, with some gneral remarks on topical medicines ;" a 
piece which speedily ipassed into a second edition, and is still 
esteemed by good judges a model in its kind. 

But he soon became sensible that the ground was pre-occu- 
pied at Chester in a iijanner which left no space for the exertions 
of a new comer ; and Ifter a trial of somewhat more than a year, 
he quitted the place. Warrington, in the residence of parents 
whom he revered and lived, in the pleasing associations of youth- 
ful days, and in the pretence of the academy with its atmosphere 
of science and literature, possessed unrivalled attractions for 
him ; whose worldly wishes were bounded to a modest compe- 
tence, while he sought his happiress in elegant and useful know- 
ledge, in the intercourse of a fev? congenial associates, and the 
affection of those connected with him by the dearest ties. To 
Warrington, therefore, he returned, where his natural connec- 
tions speedily introduced him to moderate business. In the 
mean time, his short residence at Chester had been productive 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 17 

of many advantages. Besides greatly extending his general ac- 
quaintance in the neighbourhood, it had introduced him to some 
peculiarly valuable connections. It was there that he first be- 
came known to that able naturalist and topographer, that lively 
writer, most agreeable companion, and worthy man, the late Tho- 
mas Pennant, Esq. In his various tours and journeys this gen- 
tleman frequently passed through Warrington during Mr. Aikin's 
residence there ; and he has acknowledged in print, the informa- 
tion which he received from him on his various topics of local 
inquiry. An intercourse which was found mutually useful and 
pleasing was not suffered to languish ; Mr. Aikin willingly su- 
perintended the printing of such of Mr. Pennant's works as is- 
sued from Eyres's press at Warrington ; and afterwards, when 
they were more widely separated in their places of abode, letters 
were frequently exchanged between them, principally on subjects 
connected with Mr. Pennant's various pursuits. Into most of 
these Mr. Aikin entered with deep interest. A value for infor- 
mation of the kind which would now be called statistical, was 
early observable among his predilections, and afterwards produ- 
ced good fruits to the world. That general taste for the objects 
of natural history, which was not only a source of pure and ele- 
vated enjoyment to himself through all the periods of advancing 
life, but the inspirer of some of the most agreeable and instruc- 
tive portions of his various writings, was either first excited, or 
at least chiefly fostered by his connection with Mr. Pennant, and 
the study of his works. 

It was at Chester, likewise, that he improved a slight acquaint- 
ance which he had formed at Edinburgh with his fellow-student, 
John Haygarth, M. D. into one of the most sincere, cordial, and 
valuable friendships which cheered and supported him through 
his earthly pilgrimage; — a friendship tried by long years of con- 
tinued absence, — by much diversity of tastes, pursuits, and con- 
nections, — and, above all, by a marked opposition both of politi- 
cal and I'eligious sentiments, when party contests ran the high- 
est ; which, nevertheless, through all the mutations of half a 
century, stood without even a suspicion of insecurity, and yield- 
ed at length only to the inevitable stroke which levels all. 

The distance between Chester and Warrington, about twenty 

miles, was unfavourable to the cultivation of intimacy between 

the medical friends, but they overcame the difficulty in great 

measure by appointments at the intermediate village of Frods- 

C 



IS MEMOIR OF 

liam, where they often enjoyed a social meal, and the delights of 
a few hours of the unreserved communication of sentiments, opi- 
nions, plans and projects. A correspondence was also maintain- 
ed between them ever after, from which many extracts will ap- 
pear in the progress of this memoir, the letters having been 
communicated for the purpose by their venerable and amiable 
possessor. 

The first of these epistolary series thus describes the feelings 
of Mr. Aikin on his change of residence : " It was with a heavy 
heart that I took my farewel of Chester. On my journey home- 
wards I turned to take a last view of it, and could not help an 
involuntary invocation of blessing upon it; I then in a melan- 
choly mood jogged slowly home. Chester has been a coy but 
very agreeable mistress, whom I should probably have courted 
with success, but that her favours were already engaged. Her 
reserve began to give way, and T could have been happy as a 
friend though not as a lover ; but being determined to take a 
partner for life, I was obliged to offer to a more homely but more 
attainable nymph. To drop metaphors, I shall ever think with 
pleasure on my short abode at Chester, and shall ever regard 
many persons there with affection and esteem. To these emo- 
tions gratitude will be added when I think of my very agreeable 
connection with Dr. Haygarth ; and the acquisition of such a 
friend would alone be a compensation for the time spent there." 

In the same letter he refers to the manuscript of a professional 
work by Mr. White, which that gentleman had submitted to the 
unsparing criticism of himself and his friend ; he also mentions 
a pamphlet of his own, entitled. Thoughts on Hospitals, which 
was soon after published, and well received both by medical and 
general readers. 

Almost at the same time, early in 177% he first ventured to 
solicit the notice of the public in a character which he never ac- 
knowledged as incompatible with his professional one — that of a 
polite writer and cultivator of elegant literatnre. His trial-piece 
was a small volume, entitled Essays on Song IFriting : tvith a 
collection of such English Songs as are most eminent for poetical 
merit. These essays were four in number; one on Song-writ- 
ing in general ; the other three on the respective classes under 
which the collection was distributed ; Pastoral Songs and Bal- 
lads ; Passionate and Descriptive; and "VVitty and Ingenious 
Songs : they are written with a perspicuity and correctness wor- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 19 

thy of the most practised pen, and exhibit tliat union of sound 
sense with native taste and feeling, heightened by classical re- 
finement, which is the general character of his critical works. The 
selection of songs exhibited some of the brightest gems of Eng- 
lish poetry, carefully separated from all baser substances. A se- 
cond edition of this agreeable volume was quickly demanded; 
and very many years afterwards, the editor wa^s prevailed upon 
to re-model his youthful design, with considerable additions to 
the collection, under the title of Focal Poetry.* It was one of 
the most pleasing circumstances attending this work, thatitsug- 
"•ested to the imagination of his sister her beau'tiful poem entitled. 
The origin of Song-writing.t 

A few months afterwards, Mr. Aikin's prospects in life ap- 
peared such as to enable him, without more than a due share of 
the sanguine spirit of youth, to venture upon the completion of 
the dearest wish of his heart, and he was accordingly united to 
her who had long bestowed upon him her warmest affections. 
Towards the conclusion of the same happy year, devoted to love 
and poetry, he had the high gratification of aiding iiis sister in 
selecting, revising, and conducting through the press, her volume 
of poems, which the urgency of his entreaties had chiefly prevail- 
ed upon her to give to the world ; — their success proved equal to 
their merit ; and while it justified the judgment of her brother 
from the imputation of partiality, it swelled his heart with the 
purest emotions of delight and triumph- 

In the following year, this truly fraternal pair appeared as the 
joint authors of a small volume of Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose ; 
the first edition of which, printed at Warrington, was soon ex- 
hausted, and succeeded by a London one, published by Johnson. 
The share of Mr. Aikin in this collection was considerably the 
smallest and least important; the essay on the heroic poem of 
Gondibert, however, is an elegant piece of criticism, and the 
fragment of Sir Bertram exhibited inventive powers which he had 
not before displayed : As " Tales of Terror" were at this time 
a novelty, it produced a considerable effect, and has been many 
times re-published by the compilers of selections. 

The marriage of Miss Aikin, in the summer of 1774, to the 
Rev. Mr. Barbauld, and her consequent removal to Palgrave, in 



' One vol. 12,mo. Johnson. 1810. t See Mrs. Barbauld's Poems. 



20 MEMOIR OF 

SuiFoIk, where a life of active occupation awaited her, necessa 
rilj dissolved that kind of literary partnership which subsisted 
between the brother and sister, and to which not only congeni- 
ality of tastes and pursuits, but the habit of daily intercourse, 
was essential. The pain of separation was severely felt by both : 
but the resource of frequent and intimate correspondence, ani- 
mated by occasicnal meetings, remained ; and Warrington still 
aflTorded to Mr. A.ikin, beyond the bounds of his own family, one 
dear and congenial friend with whom to "take sweet counsel" 
in all that interested him, whether as a man or an author. This 
friend was the Ilev. William Enfield, L. L, I), at this time a dis- 
sentino- minister at Warring-ton, and one of the tutors at the 
academy; a man esteemed by the public for several useful and 
acceptable works, and beloved by all who ever knew him. la 
the Rev. George Walker, also, who had succeeded to the office 
of mathematical tutor at the academy, Mr. Aikin rejoiced to dis- 
cover a man of strong native genius, interesting in conversation 
by an uncommon flow of fervid eloquence, proceeding from one 
of the purest and warmest of human hearts. 

Literary occupation had now become to Mr. Aikin one of the 
habits, and almost the wants, of daily life ; and no plan of origi- 
nal composition at this time suggesting itself, he undertook the 
translation of Tacitus^s Life of Agricola, which was printed at 
Warrington in a remarkably correct and elegant manner, toge- 
ther with the original Latin. For a task like this, his exact 
knowledge of the Latin language, and his concise and energetic 
style, were equally well adapted; and the success of this first 
essay induced him some time afterwards to add a translation of 
the interesting tract On the Manners of the Germans, by the same 
author, accompanied by an extensive selection from the learned 
notes of Brotier. The two pieces, carefully revised, were many 
years afterwards re-printed in a single volume, which has passed 
into the fourth edition ; and it has been much regretted by com- 
petent judges, that the announcement of a translation of the en- 
tire works of this philosophical historian by Mr. Murphy, indu- 
ced Mr. Aikin to lay aside a similar design which he had formed, 
and in which he had made considerable progress. 

A fresh proof of his industry and spirit of literary enter- 
prise, directed in this instance to the advancement and diffusion 
of professional knowledge, was soon after afforded by the appear- 
ance of his Specimen of the Medical Biography of Great Britain, 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 21 

with an address to the public. This was a great and important 
undertaking, comprising a history of the progress of medical sci- 
ence in this island, with biographies of the most distinguished 
practitioners of the healing art, and copious analyses of their 
writings, with critical observations. The labour and difficulty of 
the work were much enhanced to Mr. Aikin, by his provincial 
residence, remote from all assistance of libraries, public or pri- 
vate, and by the ties of a profession which forbade him to travel 
in search of documents, the perusal of which could not otherwise 
be procured. His specimen, however, attracted attention, and 
he received from several quarters useful suggestions and oifers 
of assistance. The late excellent Dr. Fothergill having, in his 
summer residences at his seat in Cheshire, become acquainted 
with Mr. Aikin, — who always retained the highest admiration of 
his skill as a physician, and the sincerest esteem for his personal 
worth, — offered him books and useful hints, and expressed warm 
interest in the progress of the work. Mr. Pegge forwarded to 
him, with some rare black letter tracts, remarks highly charac- 
teristic of his own antiquarian tastes ; and he entered into some 
correspondence on the subject with Dr. Ducarel. The late Mr, 
Falconer, of Chester, communicated some learned remarks. 
Loans of scarce volumes were procured from the libraries of 
some colleges at Cambridge, and valuable assistance of various 
kinds was contributed by Dr. Haygarth. Thus encouraged, he 
devoted much time and pains to this pursuit: but the difficulties 
attending the investigation of the earlier and darker periods of 
medical history were found in the end insuperable ; and when, 
five years afterwards, he published in a single octavo volume, 
Biographical Memoirs of Medicine in Great Britain, from the re- 
vival of literature to the time of Hervey, he was obliged to explain 
the causes of this limitation of his plan. Situated as he was, he 
found that printed books were the only documents to which he 
was able to gain access ; this deficiency, however, affected only 
those portions of his subject which might be regarded as offering 
least either of amusement or instruction, and he still flattered 
himself that he should find sufficient encouragement to carrv 
down his design through periods of increasing light and know- 
ledge. But his plan was met on the part of tlie faculty, by au 
apathy for which he was not prepared ; the topic, notwithstand- 
ing an elegant and a popular mode of treating it, as far as the 
biographical part was concerned, was repulsive to general read- 
ers; and after repeatedly resuming, and again laying aside this 



22 MEMOIR OF 

favourite task during ne.irly twenty succeeding rears, he was 
compelled finally to abandon it, as one which promised no ade- 
quate remuneration either in fame or emolument. The comple- 
ted volume, however, has been much prized by a select few, and 
the idea of continuing the woik has several times been entertain- 
ed by persons not sufficiently informed, perhaps, of the accumu- 
lated obstacles which overcame the resolution of the original 
projector. 

The following account of his various pursuits, occurs in a let- 
ter to the Rev. Mr. Barbauld written in the summer of 1775 : — 
" Many a vain wish have I formed since your last visit, that the 
pleasures we derived from your company might have been more 
durable. This desire has more particularly recurred during the 
solitary state of our academical secession, in which our social 
circle has been for the most part contracted within the narrow 
bounds of our two families. However, with business, books, a 
wife and children, I should be unreasonable to complain of ennui; 
and I have taken the most effectual method to keep it off by being 
pretty fully employed in my grand scheme, which goes on briskly 
and prosperously. Dr. Fothergill, who has been down here, ap- 
proves it and offers me his assistance ; and my more intimate 
friends of the faculty all encourage me to go on with spirit. 

" I have lately been writing the life of a very extraordinary 
man. Sir Thomas Browne, the famous Norwich physician, and 
author of Religio Medici. Did you ever read this singular book ? 
If not, I desire you and my sister would immediately do it and 
give me your opinions concerning it. It has all the spirit and 
eccentricity of uncommon genius.'' 

In September, 1776, he thus records the progress of his plans : 
— " I have a terrible heap of old books to look over, and need not 
want a fresh supply when they are done with ; for Dr. Darwin of 
Litchfield has sent me word that if I will send an ass with a pair 
of panniers, he will load him with old books of physic, bought at 
two-pence a pound. 

" I have just finished for our composition club, a paper of Re- 
marks on Inconsistencies in some of Shakespeare's characters. 
What heresy ! you will say. It is a sort of bold stroke, I must 
confess ; but I was provoked past endurance at finding some of 
the Scotch writers, Richardson in particular, quoting Shakes- 
peare for any fact in the history of the human mind like gospel ; 
and philosophising away upon any sentiment of this poor player'.^ 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 23 

as if he had all the schools of all the philosophers, ancient and 
modern, in his head. Shakespeare is a poet, — let him not be de- 
graded into a mere moralist. 1 can lose myself in ecstasy in his 
Enchanted island or forest of Arden, but I cannot allow his Rich- 
ard <o be a true Macchiavel, or his Hamlet a model of virtuous 
feeling." 

The life of Agrlcola had been designed by Mr. Aikin partly 
as a proof of his own skill as a translator, partly as a specimen 
of "a Warrington-printed classic," and the accuracy with which 
it had been executed by Mr. Eyres, encouraged him to try ano- 
ther experiment of the same kind. It was his fondness for 
natural history which on this occasion directed his choice of an 
author, and produced the plan thus unfolded in a letter to Mr. 
Barbauld. 

" Did you ever read Pliny's Natural History ? I have a scheme, 
as indeed I am never without one, of selecting some of the more 
entertaining and unexceptionable parts of his account of ani- 
mals, of which there is a good deal very elegant and pleasing, 
and making a school-book out of them. My father and several 
friends approve of it, if it can be made worth while. But Pliny 
is a difficult author, and many schoolmasters would not perhaps 
trust themselves with him. If this objection were obviated, to 
be sure the subject of the book, teaching things as well as words, 
and things more accommodated to the taste and capacity of boys 
:han the general subjects of school-books, would make the publi- 
cation very desirable. Pray give me your free opinion upon the 
matter.'' 

The selection appeared soon after in a thin duodecimo ; and 
Mr. Aikin thought himself fortunate in prevailing upon his 
learned father to contribute a short Latin preface, composed 
with such fullness of meaning and such an elegant purity of 
language, as to have called forth extraordinary commendations 
from a living scholar of first rate eminence. A selection of en- 
tire pieces from Seneca, and a complete edition of the works of 
Statins, were afterwards printed for the use of schools by Eyres 
under Mr. Aikin's superintendence. 

Jlyi Essay on the application of Natural History to Poetry, 
printed in 1777, was Mr. Aikin's next contribution to the amuse- 
ment and instruction of the public ; — to please and to profit to- 
»ether was indeed the general aim of his writings, and the mode 



24 MEMOIR OF 

by which he eftected this double purpose is well exemplified in 
the instance before us. 

The sciences which he chiefly pursued, — those founded on 
experiment and the investigation of nature, — unlike the mathe- 
matics and the more abstruse questions of metaphysics, easily 
lend themselves to an alliance with polite literature ; they sup- 
ply rhetoric with metaphors and illustrations, and poetry with 
simile and description, and derive lustre in return from a mode- 
rate and judicious employment of the ornaments of cultivated 
diction. This he early perceived ; and nothing is more observ- 
able in a large portion of his works than the blending of various 
branches of natural knowledge with the elegancies of literature; 
while the spirit of philosophical criticism presiding over the 
whole, deduces its principles and suggests it reflections, now 
from the discoveries of science, and now from the creations of 
genius. 

The Essay is dedicated to Mr. Pennant, from whose works its 
original idea and some of its most valuable materials are stated 
to be derived. It begins with taking notice of the frequent com- 
plaint of the general insipidity of modern poetry ; and rejecting 
the discouraging theory of a general decay of genius, finds the 
solution of the fact in that prevalent imitation of preceding poets 
which takes place, among their successors, of original observa- 
tion, and the exercise of invention. Novelty of subject, he pro- 
nounces to be the present requisite, and he recommends that it 
should be sought among " the grand and beautiful objects which 
nature every where profusely throws around us ; and which, 
though the most obvious store of new materials to the poet, is that 
which of all others he has most sparingly touched.^' In illus- 
tration of the habit of successive copying which has long prevail- 
ed, he adduces several instances, from writers of high name ; bui 
speedily quitting this more beaten ground, he proceeds to offer 
examples of another fault, the vagueness and indistinctness, and 
sometimes the inconsistency and absurdity, which the neglect of 
the study of actual nature has introduced into poetical descrip- 
tion. A discussion follows of the " false representations of na- 
ture which ancient error or fable first introduced, but which, 
having been made the foundation of ingenious figures and pleas- 
ing allusions, the poets of every age have adopted." These, not 
without some graceful expressions of reluctance and regret, are 
at length condemned j on the principle, that " nothing can be 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 25 

really beautiful which has not truth for its basis,'' and on the 
further considerations of " tlie boundless variety of genuine beau- 
ties, applicable to every purpose of ornament which nature libe- 
rally scatters around us," and of " the danger of suffering false- 
hood and error habitually to intrude even in matters of the 
slightest importance." It is also well observed, that " a modern 
writer can lose nothing by this rigour ; for since both true and 
false wit have been so long employed upon these topics, every 
thing brilliant or ingenious which they can suggest, must long 
since have been exhausted ; and the revival of them at present 
is as much a proof oi barren invention as of false taste.'' 

After a few more observations on the defects usually discover- 
able in poetical compositions, which the accurate and scientific 
study of nature might obviate, the essayist proceeds to the more 
pleasing task of pointing out the beauties which the poet may 
derive from this source. He observes, that " all parts of nature 
do not seem equally capable of affording poetical imagery. The 
vegetable creation, delightful as it is to the senses, and extensive 
in utility, yields compavatively few materials to the poet, whose 
art is principally defective in representing tliose qualities in 
which it chiefly excels ; colour, scent, and taste. The mineral 
kingdom is still more sterile and unaccommodated to descrip- 
tion. The animal race, who, in common with their human lord 
and head, have almost universally, somewhat of moral and intel- 
lectual character; whose motions, habitations, and pursuits, are 
so infinitely and curiously varied ; and whose connection with 
man arises to a sort of companionship and mutual attachment; 
seem on these accounts peculiarly adapted to the purposes of 
poetry. Separately considered, they afford matter for pleasing 
and even sublime speculation ; in the rural landscape they give 
animation to the objects around them ; and viewed in compari- 
son with human kind they suggest amusive and instructive les- 
sons." Accordingly it is from zoology that the subjects of the 
remaining part of the essay are almost exclusively derived. 

Two sets of examples, connected by critical and didactic ob- 
servations, are here produced, — passages in various poets de- 
scribing objects of natural history, — and passages in the works 
of naturalists and travellers capable of affording fresh topics for 
poetical employment. Of these it need only be here remarked, 
that Homer and Virgil among the ancients, and Milton, and 
above ail Thomson, among the moderns, are the chief sources of 
D 



2b MEMOIR OF 

the first class, while a pretty considerable range of writers, with 
Pliny and Pennant at their head, furnish contributions to the se 
cond. The Essay as a whole is elegant and pleasing in design, 
and the novelty of the topic recommended it to many readers ; in 
execution it might doubtless have been improved by the employ- 
ment of more time and research in the consultation of different 
authors ; and it is principally on account of its connection with 
the state of poetry and of the study of natural history at the pe 
riod of its production, that this early effort deserves particular 
notice in the biography of its author. 

The recent deatlis of Goldsmith, Collins, and Gray, had nearly 
reduced the English muses to silence, and the pause gave full 
leisure to suggest new experiments, whether in the topics or in 
the structure of verse. The " tune" of Pope had palled upon the 
public ear, and of a succession of lyric poets there could be little 
hope, considering the extreme difficulty of this style ; Thomson 
alone, of all the recent models, appeared likely to reward the 
particular study of the rising generation of poets ; for, as his 
chief merit lay in the vigour and freshness of his painting, no 
one could hope to emulate his fame without studying directly 
from nature. But probably this very necessity, combined with 
a certain uncouthness in the manner of this great writer, had 
discouraged in a considerable degree the efforts of imitators, and 
no school of descriptive poets had yet been formed. But many 
causes were secretly conspiring to excite that passion for natu- 
ral scenery, and all the objects connected with rural life, by 
which Englishmen are now distinguished above the members of 
any other civilised community; and those who first began to cul- 
tivate an intimacy with the works of nature, soon enjoyed the 
satisfaction of witnessing the extensive success of their efforts 
for the diffusion and advancement of their favourite studies. 
Mr. Aikin, among others, proved a prosperous missionary in the 
cause ; and though I would by no means afiirm, that it was at his 
suggestion, in the essay before us, that succeeding poets began 
to tread in the path there indicated, it was at least a striking 
confirmation of the justness of his taste and judgment, to find 
them seeking and attaining novelty, beauty, and grandeur by 
following that very course. Two men of extraordinary genius, 
Cowper and Darwin, arose within a few years, who, with the ut- 
most diversity in all other points, agreed however in drawing 
largely from the well-heads of natural history ; and the anxious 



DR. JOHN ATKIN. 27 

researches of a latter school of poets seem now to have left few 
of its springs untasted. 

Few things could have been more welcome to Mr. Aikin, 
while his mind was yet warm with the ideas which had produced 
his last piece, than the request which he received from a lion- 
don bookseller, to compose an essay on Thomson's Seasons, 
to be prefixed to an ornamented edition of the work. He flew 
to his task with that alacrity of spirit which is the best omen of 
success; and certainly not one of his critical pieces better ful- 
fils the true purposes of these prefatory essays, — those of un- 
folding, in a luminous and elegant style, the plan and scope of 
the author, — pointing out his characteristic excellencies with 
just discrimination, and heightening the relish of his beauties by 
supplying the various accessary ideas, which suggest themselves 
spontaneously to the mind of the accomplished scholar alone; 
but which, when offered to them in a clear and popular manner, 
are capable of greatly enhancing the enjoyment even of common 
readers. 

It would be superfluous to enter into further particulars res- 
pecting a piece wnich is included in the present volumes; but 
one observation seems to be required. Had Cowper's Task been 
then given to the public, a comparison of this writer and Thom- 
son, as descriptive poets, would in all probability have formed a 
part of the essay on the Seasons. It so happens, that this very 
subject was many years afterwards taken up by the author, in a 
paper communicated to a periodical work ; and that paper will 
here be found appended to the essay. 

At the period of which we are speaking, the system of Lin- 
nfeus was making rapid progress in this country ; l"is arrange- 
ment of plants, in particular, was attentively studied and gene- 
rally adopted : fresh activity was thus communicated to the pur- 
suit of botany, which, since the death of the excelifot Ray, had 
V remained in a rather neglected condition, and several works of 
merit in this branch of natural history were produced. Hudson's 
Flora Jlnglica was first printed in 1762, and again, with great 
additions, in 1778 ; Lightfoot's Flora Scotica was given to the 
public through the generous exertions of Mr. Pennant in 1777, 
and Ur. VVithering's Botanical Description of British Plants 
made its appearance in 1776. By some one of these publica- 
tions, but most probably from the last mentioned, Mr. Aikin was 
inspired with a taste for this delightful study, which his previous 



28 MEMOIR OF 

love and knowledge of the works of nature in other departments 
peculiarly fitted hitn to imbibe. Its effects upon his mind are 
thus warmly celebrated by his own pen, in one of his letters to 
his son "The study of English botany caused several sum- 
mers to glide away with me in more pure and active delight than 
almost any other single object ever afforded me. It rendered 
every walk and ride interesting, and converted the plodding 
rounds of business into excursions of pleasure." To which it 
may be added, that as he communicated a greater or less share 
of this taste to most of his own family, and to several of his 
friends, it became an additional source of social sympathy and 
domestic enjoyment. Independently of what he has written 
professedly on botanical subjects, his works are often enriched 
by illustrations, remarks and allusions which prove his intimate 
acquaintance with this branch of knowledge; and among his pri- 
vate papers, some interesting records exist of the characteristic 
manner in which he pursued it. In a calendar, beginning in the 
spring of 1778, and regularly carried on for six years, the names 
and habitats of all the plants which he observed are noted, with 
the respective periods of flowering, in the different years, of many 
common species, both wild and cultivated ; notices of the pro- 
gress of vegetation, which he seems afterwards to have employed 
in his little work for young people, entitled The Calendar of Na- 
ture. An elegant fragment of a poem in blank verse, called TTie 
Botanic Walk, indicates his constant endeavour to associate 
poetry, like a beloved mistress, with all his favourite studies ; a 
propensity which is further attested by a very pleasing collection 
of passages, selected from the Latin poets, relating to forest- 
trees, accompanied by remarks, tending to show the superior 
merit and accuracy of these writers, as observers and describers 
of natural objects.* 

It also appears, that he did not acquiesce without a struggle 
in the adoption of the artificial system of arrangement laid down 
by Linnseus. The natural methods of some preceding botanists 
possessed much superior attractions for one who was more in- 
clined to take a large view of the vegetable economy as a whole, 
itself making a portion of a greater whole, than to descend to the 



' This collection he afterwards formed into a set of papers which appeared in the 
Gentleman's Magazine in the years 1786 and 1787, and will be found in tlie Appen- 
dix. (A) 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 29 

minute details of classes and genera ; and he carefully examined 
and analysed for his own use the classifications of Haller and 
Jessieu. But further experience of the great convenience of the 
Linntean system to the practical botanist reconciled him to its 
use, without however blinding him to its defects, and his mature 
judgment upon it appears in the Letter to his son on Classifica- 
tion in, Natural History. Tlie following remarks, however, 
Vv'hich he never made public, seem to possess some interest as a 
specimen of the manner in which his understanding exercised 
itself on the principles of the Swedish naturalist. 

" Linnaeus, in his Philosophia Botanica, lays down the follow- 
ing proposition : 'The essence of VEGETABLES consists in the fruc- 
tification ; the essence of the fructification, in the flower 
and fruit ; the essence of the flower in the anthera and stig- 
ma ; the essence of the fruit in the seed.' 

" In the beginning of the same chapter, he defines the fructifi- 
cation to be a temporary part of vegetables, appropriated to ge- 
neration. But how can what is temporary be essential. 

" If by the essence of a thing be meant that which causes it to be 
recognised for what it is, (and we cannot, perhaps, arrive at a 
clearer idea of essence,) a number of parts or qualities must be 
taken into consideration, each of which is as essential as ano- 
ther ; and essence will consist in their permanent and constant 
union in the same subject. Thus, for a tree to be known as an 
oak, it is as essential that it should have a particular kind of 
bark, manner of growth, grain of wood, shape of leaf, &c. as that 
it should bear acorns. Nay, the latter is in common estimation 
the least essential of all ; since it takes place during a small por- 
tion of the year, and in many individuals does not happen at all. 
Linnfeus himself, too, in his characters of species (which alone 
are real existences) is obliged to take in other circumstances to 
those of the fructification, in order to mark them out. Thus, the 
Quercus Robur (Common Oak) is not only a plant with such 
and such parts of fructification, according to the generical des- 
cription, but with leaves sinuated in a particular manner; other- 
wise, according to his system, it might be a holm-oak or a cork- 
tree. But a woodman will distinguish it even without leaves, by 
its bark and wood. 

" The proposition of Linneeus is only then to be understood 
with regard to his own system ; and not without some latitude, 
even of that." 



30 MEMOIR OF 

The social temper of Mr. Alkin rendered him eager to cont- 
municate to others a fondness for those pursuits from which he 
derived his own amusement and instruction. That very eminent 
botanist, Mr. Markham Salisbury, then a student at Warrington 
academy, was primarily indebted to him for his love of the sci- 
ence. A very distinguished lover of nature, no less than of art 
and literature, Mr. Uoscoe, caught from him the same taste ; and 
the following extract from a letter to Dr. Haygarth, written after 
a little excursion which they had made together in Wales, proves 
the zeal of his friend to enlist him also in the cause: 

"The remembrance of our delightful ramble has been a store 
of pleasure to me ever since, unalloyed by any bad consequen- 
ces from it, either with respect to business or health. I never 
was so little fatigued with a long ride. Most of my moun- 
taineers survive their change of climate. Greatly do I wish that 
you were not only almost but altogether a botanist. We could 
negotiate the cleverest exchanges of plants and observations, and 
plan the most charming summer meetings! I will be bound to 
furnish your rock completely at once, and then let them call it 
a stone heap that dare. I will venture to try a botanical com- 
mission or two upon you, chiefly to oblige you to turn your at- 
tention that way. 

" When you ride next over the hill above Broughton, be so 
good as to 'light and search for a little Campanula, a very small 
plant with a blue flower, either the Campanula uniflora or hede- 
rifolia, which 1 found growing plentifully there. And when you 
are at Ruthin, visit the castle, where, among several other un- 
common plants, you will find plentifully growing out of the walls 
an odd-smelling aromatic plant, of the mint or basil kind, with 
little red flowers in whirls, which I want much, especially as I 
don't know what it is. The seeds will do as well or better than 
the roots of both these." 

It is now time to advert to the other objects which about this 
time exercised the activity of a mind which proved its vigour by 
its versatility. In a letter to Mrs. Barbauld, dated in February 
1777, is the following passage : — " We have a work now in Eyres's 
press which will I think establish the reputation of its author as 
the best man, if not the most elegant writer in England. It is 
the benevolent Mr. Howard's account of Prisons, a subject which 
he has for some years pursued with a spirit and assiduity that 
looks scarcely of a piece with any thing else to be met with in 



DR. JOHN AIRIN. 31 

this degenerate age. Nothing but his book can give a proper 
idea of the dangers and fatigues he has gone through in his truly 
patriotic design. He has been here superintending the printing, 
for three or four weeks, and will stay as much longer. 1 have 
the pleasure of seeing him every day, being his corrector and 
revisor and so forth. It will be a large quarto, not ill written, 
and though containing a good deal of dry matter, yet on the 
whole very interesting, if not entertaining." 

Thus then was commenced an intercourse which Mr. Aikin 
always accounted among the most interesting and honourable 
circumstances of his life, as it led to his long and confidential in- 
timacy with that truly great man, the philanthropic Howard, whom 
he loved and honoured during his life, and whose memory he 
celebrated and protected after his death. Further notices of this 
excellent person will occur in the course of this narrative; at 
present we proceed with the literary journal of the immediate 
subject of this memoir. Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld having no child 
of their own, had prevailed upon Mr. and Mrs. Aikin to make 
over to them one of theirs as an adopted son ; for this favoured 
child Mrs. Barbauld composed her well known "Early Lessons;'' 
when completed, they were committed to her brother to be con- 
ducted through the press; his judgment upon their merits, long 
since confirmed by the public, is thus expressed : — " The little 
book you have sent for Charles is what a person of real genius 
alone could have written ; and so far from degrading Mr. Eyres's 
press, I sincerely believe it has never been employed about so 
really useful a work, all its metaphysics, divinity, philosophy, 
and even poetry not excepted." " I never," he adds, " knew my 
time more fully taken up than at present, so various are my oc- 
cupations of reading, writing, lecturing, curing, &c. &c. Thomson 
has not yet got into the press, nor have I near finished my essay. 
It is a most laborious piece of composition ; vastly more than I 
expected. I shall not set about it in good earnest till I am re- 
minded by the little black gentleman of the press with the usual 
cry of ' Sir, we want copy.' " 

'• You once asked me, in relation to my extracts from Pliny, 
'If these are your true stories, where are your lies ?' This I 
mean to show you, being now engaged in a fair translation of 
the zoological books of his Natural History, to whicli Mr. Pen- 
nant is to contribute notes. Wliat th't;k vou of the venom of the 
basilisk being so potent, that when one of theni is killed by a 



32 MEMOIR OF 

man on horseback, the poison ascends througli the spear, and 
kills not only the man but his horse too? To tell the truth, I 
am almost ashamed to set my name to some of his old wives' 
tales. But 'tis Latin, so it may pass." 

This translation, however, was not completed ; in a following 
letter, he thus refers to it: — "A pretty scheme enough in idea, 
but on actually going strait forwards with my author, 1 am almost 
disgusted by his errors and old woman's fables. Surely the 
world is full enough of falsehood and nonsense without adding 
such stuff to the mass. Moreover, I find on examination that 
Pliny has copied almost all his truths from Aristotle, and was 
no observer himself. So I believe if I can get off handsomely I 
shall drop the scheme, though I have done something consider- 
able in it." 

The "lecturing" mentioned in the list of his engagements was 
the delivery of a course of chemistry to the students of the War- 
rington academy. The subject at this period occupied much of 
his attention ; he made many experiments, in conjunction with 
one of the elder students, whom he had inspired with equal or 
superior ardour in the same pursuit ; and he undertook a transla- 
tion of Baume's Manuel de Chymie, published in 1778. Four 
years afterwards, he printed Heads of Chemistry for the use of 
his class. For the use of another class, to whom he then gave 
lectures in anatomy, he likewise printed ^ Sketch of the Animal 
Economy, and afterwards a Latin translation of it with additions. 

Educated in that strong attachment to the House of Ha»iover 
which was peculiarly characteristic of the Protestant dissenters 
during the reigns of the two fi:rst Georges, Mr. Aikin had con- 
tinued up to this period of his life, an ardent rather than dis- 
criminating lover of his country and admirer of the British Con- 
stitution ; a patriot of that class who, while participating with 
the warmest filial interest in all the fortunes of their country, 
find themselves little disposed to exercise a critical judgment 
upon the wisdom or rectitude of those counsels by which her af- 
fairs are conducted. The glories of the war commenced in 1756 
had warmed his imagination as a child ; and it seems never to 
have occurred to him to ask himself whether, amid so much to. 
flatter national vanity, any tendencies might be discerned, in the 
policy pursued by the Government, dangerous to public liberty 
and the common good. In the beginning of that memorable con- 
test which terminated in the independence of the North Ameri- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 33 

can colonies, the ingratitude and undutifulness of these meta- 
phorical children towards a parent who had nourished and pro- 
tected them in infancy, had strongly affected his feelings, in com- 
mon with those of the great mass of the English people, and 
during the first years of war, no one was a more firm upholder 
of the justice of i hat measure. But the further progress of events, 
and the free discussions of fundamental principles which it call- 
ed forth, produced a gradual but complete and permanent revo- 
lution in his opinions on these subjects. The change is dated 
by a letter to his sister as having taken place in the year 1778. 

From this period he became a strenuous supporter of the cause 
of civil liberty, in whatever quarter of the world her banner was 
displayed ; to that cause he often devoted the service of his pen, 
and sacrificed in many important circumstances his worldly in- 
terests ; it was an attachment, in fact, which might truly be said 
to have given its colour to the whole of his remaining life, and 
it is therefore important to have marked exactly the time and 
manner of its commencement.* 

Ot his literary occupations in the year 1779, he gives the fol- 
lowing details : — " I have got some of the books I wanted for the 
Medical Biography, and so am pushing on to the end of the first 
volume, which will come out this winter. Another piece of busi- 
ness just coming upon me is the revisal of Mr. Howard's Appen- 
dix to his Book on Prisons, — the fruit of another very extensive 
foreign tour which this good, this glorious man has taken in pur- 
suit of his very humane and important object. He is just now 
arrived here, and will be in Warrington during the whole print- 
ing of his work, which, as there is to be a secrnd edition of the 
whole too, will be several weeks. You will perhaps have seen 
in the papers his appointment to the office of one of the super- 
visors of the Penitentiary Houses for Criminals to be erected by 
act of parliament. This is a very happy appointment for the 
public: for himself, he has refused any salary or gratuity for his 
trouble, as likewise have his two colleagues". 

His close connection with the Warrington academy at this 
period, rendered its affairs highly interesting to him ; and in the 
summer of 1779 an addition was made to the number of tutors, 
which proved one of its most valuable accessions. The Rev. Dr. 



• See a Letter on the Attachment to Country in Dr. Aikin's Letters to his Son. 
\oI. i. 

E 



34 MEMOIR OF 

Aikin, — that title he had lately acquired by diploma from the 
Scotch University at which he had studied, — had sustained for 
several years the double office of tutor in divinity and in classics; 
— but increasing infirmities now compelled him to discontinue 
his lectures in the latter branch, and the trustees of the institu- 
tion were reluctantly compelled to seek for a successor. The 
place of Dr. Aikin could not, it was found, be adequately sup- 
plied in the class of dissenting ministers, who were usually much 
better versed in studies strictly professional than in the litera- 
ture of ancient Greece and Rome. In this dilemma it fortunately 
occurred to Dr. Priestley, as Mr. Aikin writes to his sister, " to 
make inquiries in a new tract, — among the clergy who were dis- 
satisfied with the Church, and would not disdain an alliance witli 
dissenters. Dr. Jebb strongly recommended a Mr. Wakefield, 
now officiating at Liverpool as a curate ; and on further inquiry 
he had the amplest testimonials for extensive learning, candour, 
and morals. On mentioning the thing to him, he seemed pleased 
with the proposal, and the trustees on their part unanimously 
concurred in wishing him to come." " We like him much," 
adds Mr. Aikin, " on sight and conversation, and there is every 
reason at present to hope that he will prove a valuable acquisi- 
tion to the academy and to our circle. My father has conceived, 
a very high opinion of him.'' Thus auspiciously commenced the 
connection of that virtuous man and accomplished scholar, the 
late Gilbert Wakefield, with Warrington and with a family since 
bound to his by closer and by dearer ties. 

The sentiments of reciprocal esteem and affisction excited in 
the bosom of Mr. Wakefield towards his new associates, will best 
be collected from the following passage of his interesting and in- 
genuous Memoirs of his own life. " I reflect to this day with a 
pensive pleasure saddened by regret on the delightful converse, 

' That feast oF reason and that flow of soul,' 

which I enjoyed with my colleagues ; especially at a weekly 
meeting holden alternately at the house of each other, and ren- 
dered still more agreeable by the occasional accession of some 
congenial spirit, resident on the spot, or casually introduced as % 
visitor : 

Tecum etenim longos memini consumere soles — 
While summer suns roll unperceived away." 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 35 

He adds, <* We once made an attempt to form another society 
at Warrington merely literary, consisting of Dr. Enfield, the 
present Dr. Aikin, and myself, and an assortment of the superior 
students: at which every member was to produce in his turn 
some composition in prose or verse, upon a subject of criticism, 
philosophy, or taste. I never relished this sort of meeting, in 
which set speeches were expected ; but was happy enough when 
conversation glided, by a natural and unprepared course, into a 
literary channel. We soon gave it up." 

Not long was this delightful society permitted to remain entire. 
The constitutional maladies of the Rev. Dr. Aikin continued to 
gain ground upon his feeble frame ; and scrupulously apprehen- 
sive of retaining the office of instruction under any diminution of 
the powers of active exertion, he, in the summer of the year 1780 
gave in his resignation of the tutorship in divinity, which he had 
hitherto retained. The Rev. Dr. Clayton, of Liverpool, was ap- 
pointed to succeed him ; but not being prepared immediately to 
commence his course, Dr. Aikin had agreed to go on to the end 
of the academical sessions. But this undertaking it was not per- 
mitted to him to complete ; — an acute attack of a single day and 
night was sufficient to exhaust his small remains of strength, and 
terminated his career on December 14, 1780. The feelings of 
one of the most dutiful and affectionate of sons on this trying 
occasion, may best be collected from his own expressions on an- 
nouncing the sad and sudden event to his beloved sister. 

"That one of the best men in the world has been thus easily 
removed from a state of pain and infirmity, his usefulness and 
even his enjoyments not failing till the last day of his life, his 
breast serene, his prospects bright — can certainly, on his own ac- 
count, be in no respect a subject of grieving. But we — my dear 
sister — what have not we lost ! The best parent, the wisest 
counsellor, the most affectionate friend, every thing that could 
command love and veneration, united in him we possessed, — and 
him we have lost. Our consolation must be in a grateful sense 
of the blessings we have left, which are numerous enough to de- 
mand our warm and cheerful acknowledgments." 

In a second letter, giving an account of the funeral, these re- 
flections are added. " Thus the painful scenes have been gone 
through by us ; and I trust will soon leave little more than a 
tender regret for our loss, rendered not unpleasing by the re- 
flection of the hopes to which our deceased parent succeeds, to- 



36 MEMOIR OF 

gether with Ihe universal esteem and affection be has left im- 
printed on the minds of all who knew him.'' 

The following short, but expressive tribute to the character 
of tliis revered parent also accurs in Dr. Aikin's Letters from a 
Father to his Son: — " From every thing I have seen of the world, 
I am convinced tliat more is to be done towards obtaining hap- 
piness in general, and its precious ingredient, freedom of action, 
in particular, by contracting the bounds of our wishes, than by 
the utmost extension of our powers in filling a plan of unlimited 
enjoyment. This, I believe, is not fasiiionable doctrine, but it is 
that which the experience of my own heart suggests. It would 
too, I am sure, have been supported by the suffrage of your 
grand father, whose memory 1 know you so justly revere. 
Though by no means what would be called a high spirited man, he 
preserved during life an honourable independence, by the simple 
method of making nothing essential to his happiness which did 
not come within the reach of his useful and low priced services. 
I wish you better health, stronger spirits, and perhaps more en- 
couragement from the world than he had ; — more knowledge, 
superior talents, higher worth, and a more truly philosophical 
temper, I need not wish you, though paternal affection is little 
inclined to be a niggard in its wishes.''* 

A more elaborate, and I believe a very resembling portrait of 
this admirable person is found in Mr. Wakefield's Memoirs, 
where he describes the characters of his Warrington colleague&} 
and the insertion of it in this work will not be regarded as a 
digression by the reader who duly estimates the weight of pa- 
rental instructions and example in the formation of character. 

" Our Divinity tutor. Dr. Aikin, was a gentleman whose en- 
dowments as a man and as a scholar, according to my sincere 
judgment of him, it is not easy to exaggerate by panegyric. In 
his life he was rigorously virtuous, and when I knew him, under 
as perfect a self government, as a participation of human weak- 
nesses can well allow. He has acknowledged to me his irascible 
propensities in early life, and the difliculties which he had en- 
countered in the dicipline of his temper. Religion had brought 
every wayward idea and irregular passion into subjection to the 
laws of reasoni and had erected her trophy in the citadel of his 



LeUer on Independence. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 37 

miiid. The high esteem and even veneration in which I held 
him, received some abatement, I must candidly acknowledge, 
several years after his decease, on hearing from a friend at Not- 
tingliam, of unquestionable veracity, who had formerly been his 
scholar at Kibworth in Leicestershire, some mortifying instances 
of severity in the castigation of his pupils. And should a histo- 
rian, faithful to his trust, suppress the relation of this blemish?* 
compensated by such various and exalted excellencies? 

velut si 
Egregio inspersosreprendas corpore nsvos.* 

" As his whole conduct was strictly moral, so the influences of 
religion upon his mind were permanent and awful. He was bene- 
volent and candid in all his judgments upon the character of 
others : of great hospitality, as I myself experienced : quick to 
discern, and ready to acknowledge, true merit wherever it re- 
sided : not tenacious of his own opinions, but patiently attentive, 
beyond almost any man I ever knewj to the reasonings of an 
opponent : perfectly open to conviction : of an affability, soften- 
ed by a modest opinion of himself, that endeared him to all : and 
a politeness of demeanour seldom found even in an elevated 
station. His intellectual attainments were of a very superior 
quality indeed. His acquaintance with all the evidences of revie- 
lation, with morals, politics, and metaphysics, was most accurate 
and extensive. Every path of polite literature had been travers- 
ed by him, and traversed with success. He understood the 
Hebrew and French languages to perfection ; and had an inti- 
macy with the best authors of Greece and Rome, superior to 
what I have ever known in any dissenting minister from my own 
experience. His taste for composition was correct and elegant: 
and his repetition of beautiful passages, though accompanied 



• Let me be permitted, howevei-, in opposition to the report of tlie " Noitingham 
frieml," whom my fi^ther sail! he well remembere'l as the most unpromising and 
disobedient boy in the wljole school, — to relate the following incident, which Inever 
recal without deep emotion : — About eleven years ago, being; on a visit at the house 
of a particular fitend ;.t York, I met with a gentleman wlio, on learning of what 
family I was, begged to introduce himself to me as Mr. John Coltman of Leicester, 
and thus addressed me : " My father was a. scholar of your grand father at Kib- 
worth ; and acquired from him that love of reading which was ever after his delight 
and solace. To the end of his life, and I hud only last year the misfortune of losing 
him, he never named your grand father but with eyes swimming in tears." 



38 MEMOtR OF 

with a theatrical stateliness and pomp, highly animated and ex- 
pressive of sensibility." 

After the publication of his volume of Medical Biography in 
1780, Mr. Aikin laid aside this work, and no other of any consid- 
erable magnitude occupied his attention for some years. In fact, 
his necessary engagements were now too numerous to admit of 
^his devoting a very considerable portion of his time to literary 
composition. His practice, especially in the most fatiguing 
branch of his profession, was extensive, and he had undertaken 
the charge of two medical pupils. One of these was a son of Mr. 
White of Manchester, who remained with him only a few months, 
being designed for a physician ; the other was Mr. P. Holland, 
now a surgeon of eminence, settled at Knutsford in Cheshire. 
This gentleman remained with him two years ; and never, it may 
safely be affirmed, was a similar connexion productive of a higher 
degree of mutual satisfaction. Treated in all respects like a 
member of the family, the pupil learned to feel as one ; and nei- 
ther absence nor length- of time, ever obliterated, or impaired, 
either his sense of grateful attachment to the friend and instruc- 
tor of his youth, or the affection and esteem of that friend for 
one so highly deserving of both these sentiments. 

Among the lighter studies which amused this period of vaca- 
tion from the cares of authorship was the composition of some 
small pieces of verse, one of which, Horatian Philosophy, he 
mentions, on sending it to his sister, as extracted from various 
passages of that favourite writer. As a happy specimen both 
of his powers in familiar verse, and of the strain of sentiment in 
the ancient poet which he found peculiarly accordant with his 
own disposition, the lines may here find a place : 

HORATIAN PHILOSOPHY. 

"From scenes ot tumult, noise and strife. 
And all the ilis of pnblic life. 
From wailing at the great man's gate, 
Amifl the slaves that swell his state ; 
From coxcomb poets and their verses ; 
From streets with chariots throng'd, and hearses ; 
From ratiling spendthrifts and their guests. 
And dull buffoons with scurvy jests ; 
From fashion's whims and folly's freaks ; 
From shouts b) day and nightly shrieks; 
O let nir make a quick retreat, 
And seek in haste roy country seat ; 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 39 

In silent shades forgouen lie, 
And ieirii I" live before I die! 
There, on the Terdant turf reclined. 
By wisdom's rules compose my mind ; 
My passions still, corr-ect my heart. 
Anil meliorate my better part: 
Quit idle hope and fond desire. 
And cease to gaze where fools admire : 
With scorn the crowd profane behold 
Enslaved by sordid thirst of gold. 
Nor deign to bend at such a shrine 
While priest of Phiebns and the Nine. 
Nor would I shun the student's toil, 
But feed niy lamp with Grecian oil ; 
Sometimes through Stoic walks sublime 
Up the tough steep of virtue elimb ; 
From philosophic heights look down. 
Nor heed if Fortune smile or frown ; 
In Wisdom's mantle closely furi'd. 
Defy the tempests of the world ; 
And scorning all that's not our o~u7i, 
Place every good in mind alone. 
Then, sliding lo an easier plan. 
Put oft' the Gnd to be the man ; 
Resolve the offjr'd sweets to prove 
Of social bowls, gay sports and love ; 
Give forward life its childish toy. 
Nor blush to feel, and to enjoy. 
Yet ever, as by huraour led. 
Each path of life in turn I tread, 
Still to my 6rst great maxim true. 
On Moderation fix m.y view ; 
Let her with tempering sway preside 
O'er pleasure's cup and Learning's pride ; 
And by her sage decrees o'er- rule 
The maxims of each sturdy school. 
Opinion thus may various play. 
While Reason shines with steady ray. 
And casts o'er all the shifting scene 
Her sober hue, and light serene." 

A long vacation from the cares of authorship was, however, in 
reality, neither the wish nor the fate of Mr. Aikin ; and he em- 
braced with satisfaction a proposal made to him by the proprie- 
tors of Lewises Experimental History of the Materia Medica for 
a much enlarged and corrected edition of that work. During a 
considerable part of the year 1783, he was closely occupied by 
this design, and the result of his labours appeared in the subse- 
quent year in a quarto volume. The execution of a task for 



40 MEMOIR OF 

which he well prepared by his previous study of chemistry and 
botany, was much approved by the faculty ; and the work was 
re-printed with further enlargement and emendations, by the same 
hand, a few years afterwards. 

The ages of his own elder children at this period, rendered 
education a subject of lively and augmenting interest to the 
mind of Mr. Aikin; and several designs were conceived by him 
for the entertainment and instruction of his own boys, which 
afterwards appeared matured and expanded in his various works 
for young people. A slight but spirited sketch of his leading 
opinions on this important topic is found in the following re- 
marks, addressed to his sister, respecting a work which at that 
time greatly excited the public attention, and which he always 
mentioned with respect, and often quoted with applause for its 
many judicious remarks on particular points, notwithstanding 
the objections to its general system here stated. 

" I have a hundred things to say both for and against Knox. 
I wish from my heart that you, with Mr. Barbauld's assistance, 
would write a criticism on him. His great fault, I think, is 
setting out with too confined a view of the ends of education, 
which must be as various as situations and characters in life are. 
Does he not breed them all for clergymen and schoolmasters ? 
I should like a good comment on that excellent saying of Agesi- 
laus, 'that the great business of education should be to instruct 
youth in what will be of use to them when they come to be 
men.' This plan will scarcely include Latin verses and the 
study of Greek dialects." 

To teach things rather than words, will readily be understood 
to have been the aim of the author of the preceding remarks; 
and the first of his publications for the benefit of the juvenile 
part of the community, was intended to communicate a taste for 
such knowledge as he held useful to all. This little book, print- 
ed in 1784, was entitled The Calendar of Nature, — an elegant 
■and instructive sketch of the most striking circumstances in ani- 
mal and vegetable life, and the principal changes in the general 
face of nature attendant upon the revolution of the seasons in 
our latitudes. According to the manner of the writer, poetical 
motto's were affixed to each month ; while apt quotations in 
verse liberally interspersed, served to promote in the mind of 
the youthful reader that alliance between poetry and natural his- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 41 

iory vyhich he had ever so warmly at heart. The piece was well 
jfeceived, and went through more than one impression.* 

About the end of 1783, the dissolution of the Warrington 
academy scattered the little knot of literary friends, whose eon- 
genial society had hitherto so happily disguised from one another 
the irksomeness and monotony of a contracted circle of acquain- 
tance and an obscure scene of action. Mr. Aikin deeply felt 
the privation ; bu; to check repining at inevitable evil was ever, 
in his estimation, the first rule of moral wisdom ; and he applied 
himself to seeking, in the diligent exercise of his own powers, 
the best substitute for the animating intercourse of mind with 
mind. With Dr. Enfield, who alone of the former tutors re- 
mained on the spot, he occupied himself in the discussion of a 
variety of literary schemes, of which, though a considerable por- 
tion might prove abortive, several attained, sooner or later, a 
healthy maturity. One of his most elaborate critical pieces was 
begun at this period, the design of which lie thus unfolded to his 
sister: 

" I have another project in hand, which I want a hundred times 
to talk with you upon. 1 am writing an Essay on the allegori- 
cal personages introduced into poetry, such as Fame, Death, 
Despair, Fear, &c., and I have already made a pretty large col- 
lection of them. I reduce them to three classes: 1. Such per- 
sonifications as only represent a human figure strongly impress- 
ed with a particular passion or quality; such as Sleep in Ovid, 
Affectation and lll-natvre in the Rape of the Lock. 2. Such as to 
this have some symbolical or emblematical addition ; as Envy in 
Ovid, Care in Spenser. 3. Such as are entirely emblematical ; 
as Love, Death, Time, Fame, as usually described. My plan is 
to collect a number of examples under each of these heads, to 
make some observations on each, and to establish some general 
rules for this part of poetry from the whole. My present sources 
are chiefly English poetry, especially Spenser. I suppose the 
Italian writers would afford a good deal, but they are locked up 
from me. I must see, hovi'ever, Hoole's Ariosto. Will you be- 
stow a little thought on this matter, and give me your opinion ? 



• An L-nlarpement of this work, ad-.iplei! to rcadci-s of a riper age, and entilled 
The Natural History of the Year, was pubhslied by Arthur Aikin for Johnson, itA 
1799. 

F 



4ii MEMOIR OF 

I assure you it is a very entertaining speculation, and will afford 
many fine quotations." 

I know not how far he proceeded with his plan at this period ; 
but it was not till many years afterwards, and when the trea- 
sures of Italian literature were no longer " locked up" from him, 
that he presented his Essay on Poetical Personification to the 
public* If in the present anarchical state of English poetry 
any partisans of ancient n</e may be supposed to still exist, who 
believe the power of composing "immortal verse" to be an art 
as well as a giff, — who hold that the energies of genius are not 
checked, but invigorated, by the habit of obedience to the strict 
discipline of taste and judgment, — to them this piece will appear 
a valuable addition to the school books of every rising poet and 
every cultivated reader. It teaches the correct and consistent 
use of one of the most splendid ornaments of the more elevated 
species of poetry ; and this, not by frigid precepts, but by exam- 
ples drawn from the works of the greatest masters, and appre- 
ciated with sensibility, as well as dicernment. 

The task of preparing a new edition of Mr. Howard's work on 
Prisons, with large additions, the fruit of another and very ex- 
tensive tour undertaken by this eminent philanthropist, now pro- 
cured Mr. Aikin the pleasure of his daily society during several 
months, and the satisfaction of exercising his literary skill in fa- 
vour of his important and beneficient objects. Of the work in 
question he thus writes to his sister: "Mr. Howard is here 
printing his book, and will stay three or four months. His la- 
bours are most amazing, and a wonderful proof of what may be 
done by one man entirely devoted to a single object. Yet he 
has not, I think, a very enlarged mind, and will be chiefly useful 
as a collector of facts for others to reason upon. His narrow 
education (as he himself often laments) is an eternal and insu- 
perable bar to him. In resolution, firmness, and integrity, he is 
unequalled.'' 

But neither the dictates of that philosophic moderation which 
he cultivated, nor the pursuit of useful knowledge and of those 
amenities of literature which he loved, could longer disguise from 
a man of talents and activity, and the father of a growing family, 
the indisputable fact that he had not yet risen to his just level 



* It wasfii-st printed in the Monthly Magazine, and afterwards in his Essays, 
Litjiary ami Misceliiineous, Johnson & Co. 1811. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 43 

in society; — that the station which he held was neither in hon- 
our nor in profit a fair return for the study which he had bestow- 
ed on his profession, or his actual skill in it; — and that to sit 
down in passive acquiesence under the injustice of fortune might 
rather be regarded as tameness than virtue. The peculiar ob- 
stacles to the extension of his practice at Warrington became 
also more and more palpable. " We are encompassed round," 
he writes to his sister, "with large towns and men of establish- 
ed reputation ; and even in this town most of the higher families 
are out of my line of connections. I had imagined a way was 
opened for pushing into better acquaintance, and this has in some 
degree happened ; but I find intrigue and jealousy meeting me 
in every quarter; and as I cannot stoop to artifice of any kind, 
I am hardly a match for some of my rivals." 

Under these circumstances, he determined to comply with the 
advice which had long been urged upon him by his best friends, 
and especially by his professional ones, to take his Doctor's de- 
gree, and aim at a higher line of practice. No consideration, 
however, could induce him to submit to the degradation of ac- 
quiring by purchase a title to which he felt himself qualified to 
advance ajuster claim; and overlooking sources of academical 
honours nearer home, he fixed upon the truly respectable Uni- 
versity of Leyden as the place of his intended graduation. 

It was in the beginning of July, 1784, that he set out for Lon- 
don on his way to Holland, furnished with a thesis, to the com- 
position of which he had given much study.* Here he wiis join- 
ed by a near connection, who wished to make this little trip in 
his company, and they pursued their journey without loss of 
time. A short journal which he kept on his tour, though writ- 
ten only for his own satisfaction, and the amusement of his fa- 
mily, appears so characteristic of his quick observation and va- 
rious knowledge, that no apology, it is presumed, will be neces- 
sary for its insertion in this place. 

" On July 6th, 1784, 1 left London about four in the afternoon 
in a post chaise, accompanied by Mr. K. The road for some 
miles through Bow and Stratford appeared like a continued 
town ; from thence a flat unanimated country reaches to Rum- 
ford. After this, the country begins to be more varied and plea- 



Its title wasiJe Lactis Secretione in Puer peris. 



44 MEMOIR OF 

sant, with many gentlemen's seats, and neat cheerful farm- 
houses, mns'lv plastered over. We drove without stopping 
through Chelmsford, and only noticed the magnificent front of 
the new county gaol. Near this town, are some hop gardens, 
which looked very agreeahly. At half past nine we reached our 
inn at Withnm. For the last five or six miles, it was too dusky 
for prospect. 

"July 7th. We left Witham at six, travelling througli a flat 
corn country, bare of people, and afiording itw objects, to Col- 
Chester. This is a pretty large well built old town, very quiet, 
and abounding with remains of antiquity. Wc viewed the cas- 
tle, a large strong square fortress, entire on the outside. It 
brought to my mind the famous siege of Colchester in the civil 
wars, when Goring and Lucas made such a gallant defence. 

"From hence we proceeded through a similar but rougher 
country to Manninglree, where we came at once in sight of the 
estuary which separates Essex from Suffolk. At low water there 
is but a narrow channel, with large marshes on each side, smell- 
ing disagreeably, and looking like the native soil of agues and 
fevers. V ,---.., 

" x\ pleasant varied country leads from hence to ffanvich, 
which we reached^ at noon, a small neat port town, very plea- 
santly situated, aitin.-, extremity of land opposite the German 
Ocean. Here we passed the time by strolling about the town 
and along the beach, picking up sea plants and shells, and look- 
ing at the fishing vessels running in and out. The weatiier was 
perfectly fine, and all objects gay and pleasant. After a tedious 
waiting for the mail, we hurried on board the packet near eight 
o'clock. 

" We fell down the river with the tide, and sailed close under 
Landguard-fort, fi large handsome fortress on a low point of 
land, M'hich commands the entrance. On clearing the harbour, 
v/e found a brisk but contrary wind. The evening was fine and 
.warm, with frequent lightning in the horizon, and the moon sil- 
vering the waves. Not being able to advance, we cast anchor, 
when the vessel heaved and rolled considerably. 

"July 8th. At three in the morning I came on deck, and saw 
the sun rising like a vavSt ball of fire ont of the ocean. The ves- 
sel was under sail again, with frequent tacks and little advance. 
Contrary winds and calms prevailed all that day and the follow- 
ing night. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 45 

"July 9th. The wind freshened and became fairer. The ves- 
sel went steadier, and all the passengers ate a tolerable break- 
fast, and came on deck again. In the afternoon land was des- 
cried, and all sickness and low spirits vanished. We ran in with 
a fair gale, and were much amused at the various objects on shore 
becoming more and more distinct, and opening one after another. 
We sailed close along the shore of the isle of Goeree, and at five 
in the evening landed at Helvoetshnjs. 

" We were extremely struck with the Dutch neatness apparent 
in the pavement and whole outsides of the houses in this little 
town. After a dish of tea in our inn, we waited on Mynheer 
Commissary, a brisk chattering fellow, who made us drink a bot- 
tle of bad claret with him (not without paying, however,) while 
he sent for carriages. We two, with a French and Dutch gen- 
tleman, got an old fashioned clumsy coach for ourselves, and a 
wagon for our baggage, and proceeded for the Brill. 

"Our road led through low marshy land, which in most other 
countries would have been quite neglected, but here was highly 
cultivated, producing corn, flax, madder, potatoes, &c. The 
farm houses were neat and substantial. There were many 
aquatic birds in the fields, very tame ; among which we were par- 
ticularly struck with the stork. At half past eight we arrived 
at the Brill, the gates of which were shut, so that we were oblig- 
ed to give in our names and pay a trifle for admission. We 
crossed a fine double bridge at the entrance. 

"July 10th. I rose at six, impatient to view the new world I 
was got into. On going out, I found all the servant girls busy 
in mopping and scrubbing before their doors. They were dressed 
in round caps coming low on the forehead, ear-rings, short jack- 
ets, a sort of bell-hoops, and slippers. Most had a large black 
patch 'on one or both temples, which we were told was a remedy 
for the tooth-ache. The morning was mistling, which did not 
prevent rae from walking through some of the streets under the 
continued rows of trees. After breakfast it cleared up, and we 
walked to the side of the Maes, where we were ferried over to 
' a low island, which lies in the middle of the river. Here we got 
*- ^3 wagon for ourselves and baggage. It had swinging seats at 
the fore part on which we. were placed, and our baggage was 
piled behind ; and we drove away very merrily about three miles, 
when we had crossed the island, and came to another ferry. 
This landed us on the continent at Maeslandslnys, which is a 



46 MEMOIR OF 

busy populous town, with a small port full of vessels. Upon Jilie 
quay were great quantities of fine salt fish in barrels. It was 
market day, and the shops and stalls were dressed out in all the 
pride of Dutch brilliancy and finery. We just walked through 
the town, and embarked in a treck-schuyt on the great Delft ca- 
nal. The weather was clear and hot. We rode on the roof of 
the boat, and with great pleasure viewed all the surrounding ob- 
jects. Many towns and villages were in sight on both sides; 
and we passed through rich meadows full of cattle. The canal 
is very broad and straight, but we met with few vessels. About 
two we arrived at 

" Delft. This is a very pleasing town, with canals and rows 
of trees in most of the streets, and many very good houses. 
The square with the town house on one side, and the new church 
on the olher, has an air of magnificence. In two of the churches 
we viewed the tombs of some of the greatest men in the modern 
history. These were Admirals Tromp and Peter Hein, Grolius, 
and William I. Prince of Orange. The noble mausoleum erect- 
ed for the Orange family, with the statue of William, the great 
assertor of liberty, excited in me sentiments of the profoundest 
veneration. 

" The Dutch churches which I saw are large lofty buildings, 
with no other ornaments than a number of scutcheons painted 
with the arms of families buried there, and hung upon the pil- 
lars. There are no pews, but a vast number of chairs and 
benches. 

"Here we parted with our two companions, and set off after four 
in the Hague boat. The voyage was most amusing and striking, 
the banks of the canal being one continued range of villas, gar- 
dens, pleasure-houses, windmills, rows of trees, &c. Numerous 
vessels were continually passing and repassing. In a short time 
we reached the Hague. Here we took up our quarters at the 
Marechal de Turenne, a French hotel, very elegant and spacious. 
After tea we made a tour of the best part of the town under the 
conduct of a French valet de place. 

" The union ot the Dutch neatness with the magnificence of a 
court, in this place, is extremely striking. It is an assemblage 
of fine streets and squares, with houses worthy of the title of pa- 
laces, in a variety of beautiful architecture, exceeding much, as 
I thought, the best parts of London. Some of the older squares 
in London, as Grosvenor, Hanover, &c., if they were thrown into 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 47 

a continued group, v/ith their connecting streets, would give the 
best idea of it. But more of the buildings are of stone, and in a 
grander style ; and the fine rows of trees are a great ornament 
to them. The side pavement, however, is neither so commodious 
nor beautiful as in London. 

" There seemed to be little hurry and bustle in the streets, and 
few marks of opulence and gaiety: but many families were gone 
to their country haijitations. The few carnages we saw were 
mostly in the old heavy style, here and in other parts of Hol- 
land. Some light English carriages, indeed, were now and then 
to be seen. 

" After supper I found by great accident that my old friend 
the Rev. Mr. A. was in the house. We joined company with him 
and his friend Mr. H., and spent a most agreeable evening. 

"July nth. (Sunday.) Mr. H., A., and myself, walked before 
breakfast to Scheveling The road is a perfectly straight avenue 
of several rows of trees for a mile and half, — striking, but rather 
tiresome. Scheveling is a large fishing village, on the open 
beach. Its neatness could not prevent it from smelling abomi- 
nably of fish. The shore is composed of whole and broken shells, 
protected by a range of sand hills, held together by the star 
grass. An uniform line of sixty fishing barks all nearly alike and 
placed at equal distances, lay before the place. On our return, 
we met with several open carriages full of men and women going 
for a Sunday's ramble, some singing and uuisy, unlike our idea 
of Dutch gravity. 

" After breakfast we walked to the parade, where some horse 
and foot guards were marching round and round to fine music. 
The Prince of Orange was here, holding; a kind of levee. He is 
a heavy looking ill made man ; but seemed affable and good tem- 
pered. We followed him on his walk to the House in the Wood, 
about a mile from the town ; and were diverted with the odd 
motley group which composed his suite. There were three or 
four officers, a running footman, about half a dozen low people 
who followed close at his heels, among whom was one sedately 
smoking his pipe, and perfuming the whole company ; a shabby 
fellow followed, whistling in imitation of a nightingale ; and we 
four composed the rear. The prince walked in his boots, bare- 
headed ; and occasionally stopped by the way to converse with 
some ladies whom he met. The road is a tolerably pleasant walk 
through a wood. 



48 MEMOIR OF 

" Mr. K. and I wentintothe House in the Wood, which is a 
very heat building, about the size of the Queen's palace in St* 
James's park. Some handsome apartments were shown to us ; and 
one very fine one, the ball room, decorated with fine paintings, 
mostly relating to the actions of Frederick Henry of Orange. 

" We dined in our inn at the ordinary, with several o''ficers 
and other gentlemen. All spoke French, but too rapidly for me 
to understand ruuch. In the dining room was a picture of our 
late Duke of Cumberland, who resided some time at this hotel. 

"At half after four we set off in the boat for Leyden. The 
canal for about three miles is bordered with a continued range of 
sumptuous pleasure houses and gardens, in the height of the- 
Dutch taste, with tall cut hedges, long vistos, berceau walks, 
statues, aviaries, and parterres. The summer houses were full 
of people drinking tea and smoking. At a village where we 
changed boats, a kind of fair was held, with various sorts of di- 
versions, very different from a Sunday's scene with us. Kearer 
Leyden the canal becomes very broad, with fine extensive mea- 
dows on each side. Numerous small painted summer houses and 
gardens announced the vicinity of Leyden, where we arrived at 
half past seven. Here we rejoined Messrs. H, and A., and walk- 
ed about the town till dark. We supped together, in I know not 
what fashion, upon two hot joints of meat. 

"July 12th. After breakfast we all sallied forth, and I called 
at several places to make myself known, iu doing which I was 
obliged to make all possible use of my broken French. My re- 
commendatory letters were of little service, the principal per- 
son to whom they were addressed being dead ; but the books I 
took with me served as an introduction. Mr. H. and Mr. A. left 
us in the forenoon. After dinner I waited by appointment on the 
Dean of the Faculty, Professor Sandifort, and underwent an easy 
colloquial examination in I^atin. The subjects were chiefly 
anatomical. I understood the professor's Dutch pronounciation 
better than I expected, and made a shift to answer him 
tolerably. 

" We saw the Burgh, a curious artificial mount in the midst 
of the city, with a sort of fortification at top; and the Stadt 
house, a fine old building, in which are some paintings of Lucas 
Van Leyden. A remarkable one of the last judgment, rather 
comic than terrible, and a striking representation of the raising 
of the memorable seige of Leyden, attracted our principal notice. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 49 

" As every Dutch town is clean, the great neatness of Leyden 
ceased to be so striking; but we were really struck on passing 
through several populous streets inhabited by weavers, which 
were as clean as the best parts of the city. 

"July 13th, At twelve I went to the College, where I waste 
be examined before the Dean and Faculty of Medicine. The 
w^hole Fatuity was represented by Professor Oosterdyk. He 
was the examiner this day His questions chiefly related to the 
diagnostics and cure of diseases. They were fair and candid, 
and the business'was got through with ease. I had two aphorisms 
of Hippocrates given me to comment upon against the next day 
which made me as busy in tlie evening as a school boy with his 
task. I also went over all my thesis with a Latin schoolmaster, 
who seemed a clever man, and had nothing pedantic in his ap- 
pearance. ,'"'''' 

" We walked about various other parts of the! town, and par- 
ticularly through more streets of manufacturers, not quite so 
clean as before represented, but ail wonderfully quiet and or- 
derly. Very few children are to be seen in the streets; and the 
lively mischievous character of a boy, as it appears in England 
and other places, seems not to exist here. Contrary to what I 
had expected, we found the Dutch to be a very civil and polite 
people. Even the lower sort frequently pull off their hats to 
one another in the streets, and make way for each other in 
pass'ng. 

" July 14th. At noon I read over my commentary on the Apho- 
risms before the same professors. Dr. Sandifort oppugned a little 
in the logical forms, but the business was soon over. We saw 
the botanical garden, and a collection of natural history belong- 
ing to the College ; but neither of them struck me much. 

" We strolled a good deal about the town this day, and al- 
most finished our survey of it. Leyden is a large, handsome, 
and well built city, with many very good houses, but few build- 
ings that can be called grand or magnificent. It is remarkably 
still and quiet, and seems on the decline, many houses in all the 
streets being to be let or sold. At the same time, there is no- 
thing ruinous or shabby. Even the pleasure houses in the gar- 
dens are all kept in perfect repair. 

" The sober Uniformity of the Dutch now begins to grow tire- 
some. There is nothing gay or joyous ; no amusements of a 
lively cast. After business is over, the grave burgher goes to 
G 



50 MEMOIR OF 

his garden without the walls, and smokes his pipe in a sumnier 
house. 

" We drank tea with a grave young physician, who showed us 
his large collection of diseased bones. 

"July 15th. In the morning I sent my thesis to the press ; and 
afterwards viewed the anatomical theatre and preparations. 
After dinner I got the first proof sheet ; and having corrected it, 
and left proper directions about the remainder, we set off' at 
four in the Haarlem boat. We sailed along a broad very straight 
canal, through fine meadows with many plantations of trees, but 
few people. The sand hills on the sea shore were in view on 
the left during most of the voyage. We were struck with the 
civility of the passengers in boats, who generally saluted eacli 
other on meeting. The masters of the treck-schuyts are com- 
monly decent substantial men who converse familiarly with their 
passengers. ~ , 

"At eight we reached Haarlem. We walked about till dark, 
and then returned to supper at the ordinary, where the compa- 
ny all spoke Dutch. The landla^dy, however, who was at the 
table spoke French very well. 

"July l6th. We were abroad in good time to view the town. 
The cathedral is an extremely large old building, and is well 
situated in a handsome opening. We serif, but did not Aear,the 
famous organ, which reaches from the floor of the church to the 
roof. In the old part of Haarlem the streets are narrow ; and 
the rows of trees are planted so near the houses, that they look 
like a fan before a lady's face at church. The new town has 
some handsome streets, one in particular which we admired 
greatly. A fine broad canal runs in the midst, with handsome 
bridges ; and on each side is a broad pavement, with rows of 
lofty trees, and some very noble houses, the inhabitants of which, 
we were told, are chiefly Anabaptists. Our guide also took us 
to the wood, adjoining and belonging to the city, of which the 
people are very proud. It is cut into stars, avenues, &c. and 
neatly kept; but the trees are contemptible. About it are many 
elegant pleasure houses, some belonging to the Amsterdam mer- 
chants. The famous florists' gardens, too, are hereabouts ; and 
we saw vast numbers of bulbous roots drying upon frames. 

" At eleven we embarked in the boat for Amsterdam. The 
canal is extremely straight and handsome. Half way we got 
out of our boat, and walked across a narrow neck of land, be- 



Dil. JOHN AIKIN. 51 

tween the Haarlem-meer oti the one hand, and the Y, an arm of 
Zuyder-zoe on the other. The prospect is very fine ; and we 
could clearly distinguish Saardam in North Holland, vith its 
wind -mills, as numerous as houses in many towns. 

" The approach to Amsterdam is less striking than to several 
other Dutch towns, few great objects presenting themselves to 
the eye. We saw near us to the left, for some miles, the great 
dykes or banks to keep out the sea; over the tops of which the 
masts and sails of vessels appeared. After one we arrived at 

"Amsterdam. We walked above a mile through crooked nar- 
row streets, full of people, to our inn. Here we dined at an or- 
dinary with a company mostly English, merchants' clerks, ship 
captains, &c. In the afternoon, we visited the Stadt-house, a 
most noble square building, well situated in a considerable open- 
ing. We ascended to the cupola, and thence had a very fine 
view over the whole city and the circumjacent country, with the 
Zuyder-zee and Haarlem-meer. Tlie size of Amsterdam ap- 
peared to us about a third of London. Its figure is semi-circular, 
the harbour being its centre. The ships appear very numerous, 
but they occupy a much less extent than those in the Thames at 
London. 

" Our friends H. and A. had reached this city before us, and 
we spent the evening with the laltter, and a minister of one of the 
English churches. 

"July irth. After breakfast we set out with Mr. A. to view 
Ihe place. We went first to the Jews' quarter, a number of 
streets inhabited solely by this people, who are confined to it. It 
is extremely populous, and full of odd faces and dresses. We 
stepped into the Portuguese Jews' synagogue, a very large fine 
building. It was their sabbath, and we staid part of the service, 
iyhich was reading the Hebrew psalter. One man,in akind of eleva- 
tied stage railed round, read in a soft of chauntingtone ; and every 
now and then the whole congregation struck in, making a strange 
discordant clamour. Many were conversing together ; and the 
appearance of the assembly was the furthest possible from indi- 
cating reverence and devotion. The men had all a sort of towel 
wrapt round them. The women were in a latticed gallery and 
scarcely visible. We saw also the German Jews' synagogue, 
which is not so large. 

"From thence we made a tour of the port, docks, &c. Every 
'.thing wore the face of business, but without noise or confusion. 



52 MEMOIR OF 

Nothing pleased us more llwn a visit to one of the Rhine boats. 
These are very long capacious vessels, with two low masts, 
which carry goods and passengers to and from Germany along 
the Rhine. On the deck are raised a set of rooms or cabins for 
passengers. We went on board one of these, and were invited 
by a very neat, civil German woman to view the apartments- 
There was a suit of three or four rooms, not only clean, but ele- 
gant, hung with prints, adorned with china, painted wainscots, 
handsome bed furniture, and in short as finished, as any lady's 
chamber, At the end was a small kitchen, with the utensils as 
bright as new. The good woman seemed highly satisfied with 
the marks of pleasure and surprise we showed on the occasion. 

" We walked through some of the best streets, the Keysers- 
graft, Keeren-graft, &c. which run semi-circularly from one side 
of the harbour to the other. We saw many very capital houses, 
but rather obscured by the rows of trees before them. The canals 
are nasty and offensive ; and, on the whole, Amsterdam is far 
from being an agreeable place. 

"After dinner we visited the Stadt- house again, and saw the 
principal rooms, many of which are very fine, and furnished with 
admirable paintings. Of these, none struck me so much as those 
relating to the Dutch history. Among them is an admirable piece 
of Rembrandt, and another of Vandyke, with real portraits of 
many of the principal persons. There is a very striking picture 
of the ratification of the treaty by which the United Provinces 
were declared independent. The Spanish ambassador and the 
first magistrate of Amsterdam are represented as giving hands. 
The countenance of the former shows depression and chagrin; 
of the latter, an honest frankness and satisfaction. The subjects 
of these pictures, with their antique habits and manners, gave me 
a lively idea of the heroic times of Holland. 

"In the evening we saw more of the best parts of the town, 
and many truly grand buildings. We also revisited the Jews' 
quarter. Nothing can be more striking than the entire change 
of feature, air, dress, and manners, that you meet with on cross- 
ing a little bridge ; so that one might imagine oneself suddenly 
transported a thousand miles. The Dutch with plain, heavy, un- 
disguised looks, unanimated, generally fair and with light hair. 
The Jew sharp, designing, dark ; the women frequently hand- 
some, though brown, with black wanton eyes and lively gestures. 
Among the old men were several excellent Shylock faces. The 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 55 

contrast was renderetl greater by its being sabbath on the Jew- 
ish side, and Saturday on the Dutch. 

"July 18th. At ten we left Amsterdam, riding to the boat in a 
hackney coach set upon a sledge, holding only two persons face 
to face, and drawn by one horse. The driver walks on one side 
and behind, having long rope reins. We got to Haarlem to din- 
ner. Frpm thence to Leyden we were obliged to go in the fore 
part of the boat, as a company had hired all the better end, or 
roof as they call it. We had, however, very decent company, 
among whom were some chatty women, who made me regret that 
I could not understand their conversation. At six we reached 
Leyden, where I found my thesis printed, and all in readiness. 

"July 19th. This was my grand day. I was at the college at 
eleven. The Rector Magnificus, medical professors, and several 
others, were assembled in the senate room. After waiting half 
an hour, I was called in, and desired to read some passages in 
my thesis, which the medical professors /Jro/orma attacked, and 
I defended as well as I could. This was over by twelve, when 
the ceremony began, which consisted only in administering a 
Latin oath, and formally pronouncing me Doctor, with all the 
rights and privileges thereunto belonging. I then made my bow, 
and all was over. 

" Afterwards, I was shown Albinus's elegant anatomical pre- 
parations by Professor Sand ifort, who at the same time exhibited 
them to two ladies. I then went to our inn, where we packed up, 
dined, paid our bill, and left Leyden at half past two in the Delft 
boat. From Delft we proceeded by boa't to Rotterdam, where we 
arnved past nine in a heavy rain. We got a hackney coach to 
conv^ey us to our inn. 

"July 20th. My first visit in the morning was to the statue of 
Erasmus, a noble monument to the memory of that admirable 
genius. He stands on a high pedestal, in his Doctor's habit, in- 
tent on his book, just above the heads of the market people ; 
forming an odd contrast to their busy occupations. After break- 
fast, we extended our walk about the town, and in our way call- 
ed on Mr. H. a bookseller, to whom I had a letter. He spoke 
English well, and had quite the manners of an Englishman. He 
accompanied us to the Baumkeys, a fine row of houses, most no- 
bly situated on the bank of the Maes, which is broader than the 
Thames, and all alive with shipping. I was somewhat puzz-led 
with the date of a large house here, 5482, till I learned it was 



54 MEMOIR OF 

built by a Jew; and the Jews date from the creation. We ob- 
served many English inscriptions on the shops in various parts of 
the town. 

" We dined at the ordinary, with a pretty large company, 
who all spoke Dutch. A lady, young and modest, came and sat 
down amongst us, without seeming disconcerted ; indeed the men 
did not put her out of countenance by taking much notice of her. 
After dinner we repeated our walk, and viewed good part of the 
town. Rotterdam is a large handsome city, finely situated for 
commerce, the canals bringing large ships up to the merchants' 
doors. There are vast stores of all sorts of valuable commodi- 
ties. We saw some large men of war building and repairing; 
and some very splendid yachts belonging to various public com- 
panies. 

" We drank tea at Mr. H's father's, and found a family almost 
English, the mother being an English woman. The daughter 
could not have been distinguished from a native of England. In 
the evening we went to a public house, close by the ferry of the 
Maes, where we passed the night to be ready against morning. 

"July 21st. We were called up before four, when I had but 
just got to sleep. Our carriage, a shabby two-wheeled chaise, 
with two horses, was put into a ferry boat, which landed us pn 
an island in the Maes. We drove across this, and came to the 
other channel of the Maes, which we also crossed after a consi- 
derable delay. From this ferry we proceeded some miles across 
the Isle of Fborn, till we came to a considerable village on the 
bank of a large arm of the sea, called Holland's Diep, which di- 
vides Holland from Brabant, and goes down to Helvoetsluys. 
Here we left our chaise, and crossed in a bark, with a number of 
jieople, the wind blowing very fresh, and water dashing over the 
sides. 

" We landed at JVUlemstadt, a small town regularly fortified, 
where we were obligetl to give our names. Here we breakfasted, 
and got another chaise, more clumsy and jolting than the first, 
but with able horses and a brisk driver. After some time we 
came to another ferry, but a short one. The way, so far, lay 
through a very low country, with fine corn fields, flax, madder, 
and beans, not papulous, with scattered farm houses very like 
those in England. The road generally ran on the top of a straight 
high bank, with trees planted on the slope. We travelled for 
some time on the banks of a small river flowing through marshes 
en which were flocks of water fowl. 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 55 

'About noon we reached Rosendael, a mean town, full of 
(Soldiers, who seemed to be quartered in every private house. 
They were a German regiment in the service of the States ; sta- 
tioned there, no doubt, to form a communication between Breda 
and Bergen -op -zoom. 

" After baiting here, we proceeded, and soon came to the fron- 
tier ot Dutch and Austrian Brabant. Our arrival in a Roman 
Catholic country was at once discovered by a handsome village 
church, with a crucifix at the east end, and crosses over the 
graves. -Brabant is a very sandy soil^ and the rdad& are extreme- 
ly heavy. Oats and buck wheat are the chief growth of the cul- 
tivated parts, but there are large heaths which extend quite into 
Germany. On one of these I got out and botanised a little. A 
very extensive one brought us in sight of Atvverp, as yet at a 
-considerable distance. The prospect on each side was bounded 
only by the horizon, and many fine steeples were in view all 
round. We passed some large plantations formed on the waste, 
^tlv new farm houses interspersed; and at length got into the high 
road from Breda to Antwerp, which is a fine pavement, perfect- 
ly straight, and bordered with rows of trees. The country here 
ip rich, inclosed, and highly cultivated. Before six we reached 
: '^•-y Sntwei-p. The approach to this city struck us wonderfully 
hy the view of its steeples, high ramparts, broad foss, and em- 
battled towers. The custom house officers visited us at the 
gates, but were easily satisfied without opening our baggage. 
After drinking coffee at our inn (which was a very handsome 
one, and had the honour two or three years before of lodging the 
Emperor) we walked about the town attended by a valet de place. 
The mixture of religious edifices with ancient stone houses, re- 
minded us of Oxford ; while the Madonnas and saints at every 
corner, crucifixes in the streets, and odd figures of monks and 
priests, presented a scene perfectly new to us. We walked 
round half the ramparts to that part of the city which is washed 
by the Scheldt, a fine river, nearly as broad as the Thames, but 
having only a few barks upon it. We returned through Vv^hat 
had been the trading part of the town, and took a melancholy 
survey of grass-grown quays, weedy canals, dilapidated ware- 
houses, and close streets thronged with houses, but almost des- 
titute of inhabitants. The famous exchange of Antwerp, as large 
as those of London and Amsterdam, has its walks obstructed 
with shabby boarded booths, used as paltry shops at the fair. 



56 MEMOIR OF 

An old woman selling muscles was the only commercial occu- 
pier of the place. 

"The town-house is a very large building, scarcely inferior in 
size to that of Amsterdam ; and must have been the finest in 
Europe when built. It looks sadly desolate and neglected. 
The houses in this part of the town are very high, and of a sin- 
gular architecture, magnificent in their day, but now antiquated. 
The steeple of the cathedral church is a high gothic tower of most 
unparalleled lightness and elegance. 

" The gloominess of this city is augmented by the dismal dress 
of the women ; the maifl servants wearing a large square piece of 
black stuff over their heads like a hood ; and women of the bet- 
ter sort, a kind of long cloak of white camblet with a hood, 
almost concealing their faces. 

" July 22d. After breakfast we sallied forth to view pictures 
and churches. We first saw a private collection, then St. James's 
church, the academy of painting or school of Rubens, and lastly 
the cathedral church of Notre Dame All the fine pieces we saw 
were eclipsed by the master-piece of Rubens in this last church, 
the taking down from the cross, with the Annunciation on one 
side and the Purification on the other. It is impossible to con- 
ceive painting to go beyond this ; but the solemnity of the effect 
is somewhat diminished by being shown the portraits of Rubens's 
three wives among the figures. ,•'■',■ 

"The splendour and dignity of the objects in this cKurch, flic 
paintings, statues, marble, sculpture and gilding, with the sump- 
tuous habits of the priests officiating, were very imposing on the 
mind, and powerfully apologised to me for the attachment shown 
to so childish and irrational a religion. Nothing struck me more 
than the fixed statue-like attention of the people who were pay- 
ing their devotions in different parts of the church. Not a look 
was turned aside as we passed before them. In some the finest 
attitudes and expressions of humility and devotion were to seen; 
and I could not doubt but a great deal also was felt by the heart; 
but the nature and value of those feelings seemed very equivocal. 
The Madonna of Rubens must excite emotions in the most in- 
sensible, and, in factj the Virgin seems to have usurped all 
honours here. She is the Venus of the Roman Catholic worship; 
a chaster Venus, but still conveying the idea of a beautiful fe- 
male. There are in this church two very fine and affecting pic- 
tures, the death and ascension of the Virgin. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 57 

"The women at prayers were wrapt up in their white cloaks 
and hoods, which prevented the necessity of all dress at this ear- 
ly time of the day. 

" At eleven we crossed the Scheldt in a boat, and got a chaise 
on the other side to carry us to Client. We proceeded through 
an inclosed and highly cultivated country, growing much corn> 
buck wheat, and fine flax. The road in some parts was very 
heavy and sandy. We dined at a small inn in a village called 
Tfestminster. From thence the country became more populous, 
and we passed one considerable town where there seemed to be a 
manufacture of linen. Several fine villages lay in our road, 
among which was one extremely neat, most of the houses being 
white, sashed, with green window shutters. I got out at one 
place and walked, while the chaise was baiting, along a pleasant 
road with rows of trees, under which was a cheerful group of 
people dressing green flax. One of the men conversed with me 
in French. 

" Near eight we arrived at Ghent; the evening so rainy that we 
could not stir out. Our inn here had the appearance of having 
been a nobleman's house. It also boasted of having lodged the 
Emperor; and it lodged us very well. 

" .July 23d, We left Ghent at eight, taking a coach (as it still 
rained) to the canal. All we saw of this city was therefore, in 
driving throught it. It appears a large old town, with many 
grand buildings. 

" We embarked on the Bruges canal on board a vessel with 
one mast, very elegantly fitted up, with a very handsome cabin 
at each end, and a kitchen and other rooms between. The 
quarter deck was covered with an awning. The company was 
a motley group of ladies, gentlemen, priests and common people. 
We had an agreeable party, in one of the cabins, of some 
gentlemen and two ladies from Bruges, who spoke French as 
their native tongue. They were polite and well educated, brown 
and rather thin, with black eyes and easy lively manners. I re- 
marked some circumstances which showed that female delicacy 
was not quite the same thing in Flanders as in England. 

" We proceeded slowly, drawn against the wind by horses. 

A dinner was cooked on board, and fifteen or sixteen of us sat 

down to it, among whom were t^alf a dozen priests, who joined 

with cheerfulness and good appetite. It was a meagre day, and 

H 



58 MEMOIR OF 

we had fish in various fashions, well dressed and neatly served 
up. Our wine was laid in ice. 

" The Flemish seem in general much livelier than the Dutch, 
French is very commonly understood by all ranks ; and those 
who read are acquainted with French and English literature. 

" We drank tea on board, and reached Bruges between four 
and five. We were obliged to go immediately from the bark to 
the Ostend diligence ; so we saw nothing of Bruges but in driv- 
ing through it. We passed a handsome market place and town 
house ; but the buildings in general seemed inferior to Antwerp 
and Ghent. 

" In the diligence were nine people, exclusive of a child at the 
breast. Though our machine was none of the most commodi- 
ous, we were jumbled into good humour. We baited half way, 
when our women passengers by means of a draught of small 
brisk white wine were thrown into a very merry humour, and we 
had nothing afterwards but giggling and laughing, especially 
from one young woman, pretty, and very voluble in Flemish 
French. The road was a pavement, very straight, through a 
sandy country where many potatoes are grown. 

" We reached Ostend at half past nine, and went to a very com- 
fortable (but dear) English house, where we supped in our own 
fashion with a company almost all English. 

"July 24th. I was up early, and paid a visit to the principal 
church, a tawdry place, with much Roman Catholic finery. 
Some persons were already paying their devotions. On return- 
ing, I was much surprised and pleased to find Mr. and Mrs. E. 
in our inn, come on purpose from Bruges to see me. We walk- 
ed over the town with them and their daughter, a girl of about 
ten, who speaks four languages. Ostend is a tolerable town, 
with many handsome new buildings run up during the war Its 
busy days seemed almost over, though the arrival of some impe- 
rial East Indiamen had thrown a little life on the place. We 
observed several of the sailors, with very dusky faces, straw hats 
and singular dresses, ofi'ering trinkets to sell. 

" After passing a most agreeable morning and dining all to- 
gether at the ordinary, we took a reluctant leave of our friends, 
and embarked at half past four in a small Margate vessel. Dr. 
K. a young English physician, to whom I had introduced my- 
self at Ostend, was one of our company. There were, besides, 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 59 

a foreign gentleman, a French quack and his wife, and an old 
Fleming. 

" The wind was almost directly contrary : and we were oblig- 
ed to make many tacks before we could clear the harbour The 
night was boisterous ; the vessel pitched much, and we made a 
very slow advance. 

"July 25th. Wind still contrary and high. We descried the 
North Foreland soon in the afternoon, but approached it very 
slowly. At length we saw the white cliffs distinctly. Porpoises 
were tumblins: around us ; and the birds called divers, swimminff 
among the high waves, sometimes disappearing, and then riding 
sublime on the very ridge of the wave, amused us much. We 
were so long in working into the harbour, that we did not land 
till past nine at night at Margate. 

" July 26th. We rose very early, and viewed the town, finely 
situated on the open sea, from which it is protected by a natural 
and uniform wall of chalk rocks running for miles along the 
shore. There are several handsome new buildings in the Lon- 
don style for the accommodation of bathers, and many bathing 
machines lie round the bason. Before six we set off with Dr. K. 
in a chaise for London, were we arrived at six in the evening.'' 

From London the new graduate returned to his family at War- 
rington, but with the intention of quitting the place whenever 
such prospects should open to him in any other town as might 
justif)' the experiment of removal. 

After some months spent in inquiries, he received information 
of a vacancy about to occur by the departure of one of the two 
physicians w^ho divided the practice of the town of Yarmouth in 
Norfolk ; and this intelligence was accompanied with such assu- 
rances of support from some of the inhabitants, to whom his 
connections were well known, as determined him to settle there. 
Notwithstanding the circumstances which had rendered him 
justly dissatisfied with his professional situation at Warrington, 
his feelings on the near prospect of departure made him sensible, 
that in the way of social and friendly enjoyment he had many sa- 
crifices to make in quitting that county which had extended so affec- 
tionate an adoption to his parents.his sister, and himself; and which 
was the scene of all the dearest recollections of his youth, and the 
birth place of his children. The position of Warrington enabled 
him to keep up an agreeable intercourse with his friends at Ches- 



60 JMEMOIR OF 

ter.and especially witli the dearest and most intimate of them. Dr. 
Hav^arfh; — it afforded siuiilar or greater facilities with respect 
to his Manchester connections, who had recently marke4,their re- 
spect for him by electing him a member of their newly established 
Philosophical and Literary Society: — and its station between 
this |)lace and Liverpool gave him the advantage of the half way 
meetings which often took place between the members of the 
medical profession belonging to these two populous and rising 
towns. Some circumstances of this nature procured him occa- 
sional interviews witli Dr. Pcrciva! and Dr. Bell of Manchester, 
with Dr. Dobson of Liverpool, and especially with the late Dr. 
James Currie of the same place. Towards this accomplished, 
enlightened, and eminently excellent person, he found himself 
so strongly attracted by a similarity of tastes and pursuits, 
and a conformity of views on some of the most important 
topics of human speculation, that a very little more oppor- 
tunity was alone wanting to mature Avhat was already social in- 
timacy into perfect friendship ; and enough was done to impress 
both parties with a lasting esteem, and an unfailing concern for 
each other"'s welfare, and to confer on the very few opportunities 
of intercourse which were afterwards granted them, a character 
of the most lively interest.* 

He had likewise enjoyed opportunities of forming other ac- 
quaintances among the inhabitants of Liverpool which he justly 
regarded as equally agreeable and advantageous. The distin- 
guished biographer of Lorenzo de' Medici and Leo X., then 
young ajid unknown to the world, but already credited by his 
friends for the various abilities which he has since made mani- 
fest, was one of those whose society he peculiarly valued, and 
whose character he contemplated with the most cordial senti- 
ments of esteem and affection ; — these sentiments were mutual, 
and their strength has since been proved by a friendship which 
knew but one termination.! 



• The present writer, who, many years since, enjoyed raucli of thf: pleasure and 
advantage of Dr. Currie's society during a visit to Liverpool, can nevei- foi'get the 
rninute and earnest manner in which ht- quusitioned her respecting her father's sen. 
timents on many interesting and momentous subjects ; and the animated expression 
of pleasure with which he exclaimed, at the end of this examination — " Then he is 
the same man 1 knew twenty years ago !" 

f The following [jarticulars of the early period of their acquaintance, communi- 
cated to me by Mr. Koscoe himself, are too characteristic as well as pleasing to be 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 61 

With so many social ties to be broken, Dr. Aikin might be ex- 
cused for regarding his removal to a distant part of the king- 
dom, where he possessed not a single friend and scarcely even 
an acquaintance, as a severe trial of Fortitude. He thus expresses 
himself respecting it to Dr. Haygarth, by M'hose persuasions 
chiefly he had been urged to assume his new character. — ^ — 
" Should any thing prevent your coming hither, I shall certainly 
make a point of visiting you before my departure, for God knows 
when we shall meet again. If success in my profession was not 
the first concern in my situation, I should be strongly disposed 
to reject any offers which would remove me so far from friends I 
cordially love and esteem. But we are in a world that demands 
continual sacrifices, and happiness is only to be acquired by ac- 
commodating ourselves with good humour to our several neces- 
sities.'' 

It was at the close of the year 1784 that Dr. Aikin with his 
family quitted Warrington on their journey to Norfolk : his ex- 
cellent mother, who had resided in his house from the period of 
her husband's death, resolved still to accompany the dearest ob- 
jects of her affection ; but stopping by the way at the house of 
her daughter in Suffolk, she there manifested symptoms of decay 
which in a short period terminated in her death. The rest ot 
the family speedily arrived at the place of their destination, and 
began to examine with eager interest the new scenes which open- 
ed upon them. 



omitted. " It is a satisfaction to my minil to express to one so deaf to liim the 

sincere ami affectionate attachment I entertaiiifd tor him, ;>nd the gratitude I owe to 
him for the advanlages (ierived from his friendship and society at an early period of 
my life. My long acquaintance with him is indeed connected with the mest pleasing 
recollections. From having accompanied him to his little hotanical garden in the 
vicinity of Warrington, I fisst imbibcMl a relish for those pursuits ; and I well remem- 
ber that, on his recommendation, I was first led to the perusal of the modern wri- 
ters of Latin poetry, \vhich has since afforded me an inexhausiible source of pleasure." 
In reference: to the modern Latin poets, I would observe, that it is somewhat re- 
markable that the admiration which ni} father certainly entertained for them, has 
not left stronger traces in his works. Two translations, however, of short pieces, 
one of them by Fracasforius, the olherby Janus.Etruscus, are included in his volume 
of poems. I know that he accounted Fracaslorius as the first of these writers, espe- 
cially in the didactic style : the others whom he most admired were Sadoletus, Fon- 
tanus, Sannazaro, Politianus, and — for classical purity of style rather than originality 
or brilliancy of imagination — liembus. The Psalms of Buchanan stood very high 
iu his estimate in the class ofiranslalions, and some of Joitin's odes, especially that 
.Jd Tempits, he considered as of first rate excellence. Full accounts of the Latin 
poets of modern Italy are contained in Mr. Roscoc's Life of I^eo the Tenth. 



62 MEMOIR OF 

Planted on a narrow strip of sand jutting out into the German 
Ocean, and exposed to the full fury of the north-eastern blasts 
which sweep along that flat unsheltered coast, and suffer not a 
tree or a bush to raise its head with impunity, — nothing can 
easily be imagined more dreary than the situation of Yarmouth 
and the immediately adjacent country. The town itself, how- 
ever, though strangely cramped in its mode of building within 
the circuit of its ancient walls, is recommended by a striking air 
of cheerfulness and neatness, and boasts one of the finest quays 
in the kingdom. The manners of the lower class are remarka- 
bly decent and civilised ; and as much of literature and refine- 
ment prevailed at this time among the richer part of the commu- 
nity, as could reasonably be expected in a commercial town of 
the second rank, occupying a remote corner of the island. 

There was no cause for complaint in the reception given to the 
newly-arrived family by the general society of the place. A con- 
siderable number of the principal people commenced an acquain- 
tance with them, and it soon appeared that they might be occu- 
pied in visiting even more than they desired. But a very short 
trial was sufficient to convince Dr. Aikin that he had been con- 
siderably deceived, both as to the whole quantity of medical 
practice which the town was capable of affording, and the pro- 
portion of it which was likely to fall to his share. The other 
physician was already established and well supported ; and as 
the field was clearly too narrow for two, he was speedily per- 
suaded that he had not yet found a lasting settlement ; though 
le felt it the part of wisdom to afford himself time for a 
fair trial of the resources of his present situation. Under these 
impressions, it may readily be imagined that the first year of his 
residence at Yarmouth was one of the most anxious periods of 
his life ; and not a little credit seems due to the spirit of prac- 
tical philosophy and the disposition to be easily pleased and in- 
terested, apparent in the following passages of letters written to 
his sister during this period. 

April 7th, 1785. " While you have had Siberian blasts, we at 
Yarmouth have not altogether lived on zephyrs. The cry of our 
night watchmen, ' North-north-east is the wind — North-north- 
east,' had become perfectly familiar to our ears ; and the grand 
sight of about five hundred ships at anchor waiting for a southern 
breeze, had lost all its effect upon us, from its duration. From 
Monday things have changed a little, but the wind has again got 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 63 

round to its old quarter — My poor Calendar has appeared at an 
unfortunate time tor its credit, and I doubt it will be reckoned 
as fallacious as Poor Robin or Wing. 

" Thanks for your invitation of G . He and we gladly ac- 
cept it, and you will perhaps shortly see. us whisking it over your 
green in a Yarmouth cart.* He is a useful man, though, to us, 
in our rambles with the children by the seaside, where my wife 
and I are as much amused as the young ones in picking up shells, 
pebbles, and sea weed. We are beginning to make a collection 
or museum, if you please, which you may one day view with much 
delight and instruction. I do not intend, however, to turn show- 
man, like Sir Ashton, as I begin to have a prospect of a better 
trade in my own profession. I assure you, things mend upon 
me, and all the world does not continue so obstinately healthy, 
or so afraid of a physician. I have had, and now have, some pa- 
tients. My rival is one of my most familiar and agreeable ac- 
quaintance, and 1 find several more whose company is better than 
none.'' 

Late in the month of September, writing to Mrs. Barbauld, 
who was then on a tour in France, he describes himself as with- 
out medical employment at that time ; and laments that the pub- 
lication of Rousseau's Letters on Botany, with some additional 
ones by Mr. Martyn, had superseded a favourite scheme of his 
own ; but consoles himself with the translation of Tacitus which 
he had resumed as a winter employment. He mentions the 
pleasure of a visit from his beloved friend Dr. Enfield, whom a 
fortunate invitation from a congregation at Norwich had now 
brought to reside within twenty miles of him ; and afterwards 
he proceeds thus : 

" We have had a good deal of amusement here from the annual 
visit of the Dutch fishermen. About fifty of their schuyts came 
up our river, and lay for three or four days at the quay, in an 
uniform regular line. The town was filled with great breeches, 
and on the Sunday all the country flocked in to see the sight, so 
that the whole length of the quay was crowded. The gradual ap- 
proach of the schuyts with their yellow sails glittering in the sun. 



* A low open carriage^of very simple construction anfl humble appearance, coni- 
JKionly used by tlie iuhabitauts of Yarninutb, as peculiarly adapted to their naiTOW 
lanes called Kotos. 



G4 MEMOIR OF 

and their progress up the river in a line one after tiie other, were 
very striking spectacles 

" But how I long to be with you, ' To quaff tlie pendent vin- 
tage as it grows ;' to see a gay people in their gayest mood, and 
lead the dance with a sun burnt Champenoise on the green turf! 
Here, different employ! we are fitting out fishing-boats, prepar- 
ing nets and cordage, launching to sea, and hunting out for the 
mighty shoals of herrings in their annual migration. Already 
some are brought in,- and carts loaded with them arc now driv- 
ing by. Here is industry, and here are the sources of wealth; 
but where are pleasure, and elegance and vivacity? If employ- 
ments must give a tincture and flavour to those occupied in them, 
surely one would prefer the perfume of the grape to the stench of 
a herring.'' 

The inspiring influence of his sister's letters, describing alter- 
nately the gay and the sublime scenes which opened to her on 
her journey, and rendered still more impressive, perhaps, by the 
contrast of his own situation, roused all his poetic talent, and 
produced soon after an epistle to her in verse, which well de- 
serves to be quoted among the most pleasing records of the wri- 
ter's mind : 

To Mrs. Barhauld, at Geneva. 

" From Yare's low banks, where through the marshy plain 
lie leads his scanty tribute to the main, 
On sea-girt Albion's furthest Eastern bound 
Where ttiret'u! shoals extend their bulwark, round, — 
To thee I turn, my sister and my friend ! 
On thee from far the mental vision bend. 
O'er land, o'er sea, freed Fancy speeds her flight. 
Waves tiie liglit wing, aiif) towers her airy height : 
And now the chalkj cliffs behind hi r fly. 
And Gallia's realms in brilliant prospect lie ; 
Now rivt-rs, plains, and woods and vales are cross'd," 
And many a scene in gay confusion lost, 
'Till 'mid Burguiidian hills she joins her chase. 
And social pleasure crowns the rapid race. 

" Fair land ! by nature deck'd, and graced by art, 
Alike to cheer the eye and glad tlu' heart, 
Pour thy soft influence through Lsetitia's breast, 
And lull each swelling wave of care to rest ; 
Heat witli sweet balm the wounds of pain aiifl toil, 
Bid anxious, busy years restore their spoil ; 
The spirits light, the vig'u-ous soul infuse, 
And, to requite thy gifts, bring back the Muse. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 65 

For sure tliat Muse, whose far-resounding straioa 
Ennobled Cynius' rocks and M-rsey's plains 
Shall here with holdust touch awake the lyre. 
Soar to new heights, and glow with brighter fire 
Methinks I hear the sweetly-warbled note 
On Seine's meand'ring bosom gently float ; 
Suzoii's rude vaie repeats the charming voice. 
And all around the vine-clad hills rejoice: 

" Now all thy grots, Auxcelles! with music sound ; 
From crystal roofs and vaults the sti'aios rebound : 
Besangon's splendid towers the song partake 
And breezes waft it to the Leman lake. 
Delightful lake ! whose margin gay and green 
Smiles in soft contrast to the rugged scene 
Of stern brow'd Alps, where storms eternal roll. 
How must (iiy varied charms entrance the soul ! 
With what high passions must thy prospect move 
The heart that beats to liberty and love ! 
Around, fair Freedom builds her lofty throne 
And rocks and valourguard it for her own; 
While deep within embowering shades conceal'd 
To none but Cupid's mystic band reveal'd 
Ciarens ! thy roofs ascend, with turrets crown'd. 
And love and Julia fill th' enchanted ground. 

" Such, my Lsetitia, on thy ravish'd eyes 
Bursts the bright scene, the vivid landscapes rise ; 
Whilti from my sight the air-drawn pictures fade! 
And Fancy's glass bedimm'd denies its aid ; 
The colours melt, the lines dissolve in space. 
And cold realities usurp the place. 

" VVhat different scenes succeed !— a steril shore. 
Long level plains, the restless ocean's ruar. 
The rattling car, the shipwright's sturdy toil, 
The far-spread net, and heaps of finny spoil. 
Keen Eurus here sweeps o'er th' unshelter'd land. 
Shakes the strong dome, and whirls the loosen'd sand ; 
Fair Flora shrinks, the trees averted bend. 
While their thin boughs a scanty shade extend: 
And, for the flowering thicket's cheerful notes 
Here hungry sea-fowl stretch their clamorous throats. 

"And yet, e'en here, the soul- directed sight. 
Which nature's views in ev'ry furm delight. 
May catch, as o'er the brighten'd scene th^y gleam 
Grandeur's strong i-ay, or beauty's softer beam. 
Frequent along the pebbly beach I pace. 
And gaze intent on ocean's varying face. 
Now from the main rolls in the swelling tide, 
And «aves on waves in long procession ride ; 
Gath'ring they come, till, gain'd the ridgy height. 
No more the liqi^id mound sustains its weight j 



66 MEMOIR OF 

It curls, it falls, it breaks with hideous roar, 
And pours a foamy deluge on thi- shore. 
From the bleak pole now driving tenmpests sweep. 
Tear the light clouds, Hnd vex the ruffled deep. 
White o'er the shoals the spouting breakers rise. 
And mix the waste of waters with the skies: 
The anchoring vessels, stretch'd in long array, 
Shake from their bounding sides the dashing spray ; 
Lab'iing they heave, the tighten 'd cables strain, 
And danger adds new horror to the main. 
Then shifts the scene, as to the western gales 
Delighted Commerce spreads her crowded sails. 
A cluster'd group the distant fleets appear. 
That scatt'ring breaks in varied figures near : 
Now, all illumn'd by the kindling ray. 
Swan-like, the stately vessel cuts her way; 
The fuU-wing'd barks now meet, now swiftly pass^ 
And leave long traces in the liquid glass : 
Light boats, all sail, athwart the current hound, 
And dot with shining specks the surface round. 
Nor with the day the sea-born splendours cease : 
When evening lulls each ruder gale to peace. 
The rising moon with silvery lustre gleams, 
And shoots across the flood her quivering beams. 
Or if deep gloom succeeds the sultry day. 
On ocean's bosora native meteors play. 
Flash from the wave, pursue the dipping oar, 
And roll in flaming billows to the shore. 

" 'Tis thus, within this narrow nook confined, 
I strive to feed with change th' insatiate mind, 
But surer aid the Muses' stores impart. 
With each new world of science and of art ; 
And, more than all, the joys of sacred home 
Forbid my heart to pant, my feet to roam. 
Yet one dear wish still struggles in my breast. 
And points one darling object unpossess'd : 
How many years have whiri'd their rapid course 
Since we, sole streamlets from one honour'd source. 
In fond aflFection as in blood allied. 
Have wander'd devious from each other's side ; 
Allowed to catch alone some transient view. 
Scarce long enough to think the vision true; 
O then, while yet some zest of life remains, 
Whilf transport yet can swell the beating veins, 
While sweet remembrance keeps her wonted seat. 
And fancy still retains some genial heat, 
When evening bids each busy task be o'er. 
Once let as meet again, — to part no more! 

A year of experiment was sufficient entirely to convince Dr. 
Aikin of the correctness of his first judgment concerning the 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. Q7 

probable unproductiveness of Yarmouth to him, as a medical sta- 
tion J and he was now fully bent on a change of residence. The 
choice of a new scene of action still however remained matter of 
anxious deliberation, till his doubts were ended in the manner 
related in the following letter to Dr. Haygarth, dated December, 
1785. 

" You Avill, I doubt not, my dear friend, be pleased to hear, 
that after my discussion and rejection of so many schemes for 
a change in my situation, I have at length come to a determina- 
tion. The decision is a bold one, but 1 hope it is well weighed, 
and that it will appear to my friends as well as myself, not too 
hazardous. London is the place, after all, where I am to make 
my eftbrts. The prize is worthy of a contest, though I confess it 
would be little consolation to have it said, in case of a failure, 
* magnis tamen excidit ausis.' 

"I took a journey, about three weeks since, to Bedfordshire 
and St. Albans, to reconnoitre there, where 1 have connections j 
but I could find little encouragement. Thence I went to Lon- 
don and saw all my relations and friends, and, to my surprise, 
found them almost unanimous in advising me to venture at the 
metropolis, with such assurances of support, or confidence of pre- 
sage, that all my fears and reluctancies at length gave way, and 
I left town with a resolution to prepare as soon as possible for 

my settlement there In the line I am to follow, I do not 

think it will be of so much consequence to make a noise, as as- 
siduously to cultivate all private friendships and acquaintances, 
and to get introduced as much as possible to families. Yet if an 
hospital, or a partnership in lecturing should be easily procura- 
ble, I shall certainly offer myself. In short, it is my resolution 
to be active and pushing, and even to force my natural disposi- 
tion, if it stands in my way." 

With these prospects and resolutions, he removed to London, 
and fixed himself with his family in the city; where the chief 
strength of his connections at that time lay. The fame of his 
literary productions had preceded him in many quarters ; and 
as it may safely be affirmed in his case, that the man never 
disappointed the warmest admirers of the author, he found him- 
self rapidly making his way in society, and beginning to unite 
the general suffrage to the cordial attachment of relations and 
family friends. With so much in his reception to flatter self- 
applause, and minister food to ambition, added to the common 



68 MEMOIR OF 

attractions of the metropolis for every inquiring mind and ac- 
tive spirit,— his relinquishment of his new situation within the 
space of four months, was a sacrifice of the brilliant to the 
solid, — or, to speak more truly, of immediate personal gratifica- 
tion, to the security and welfare of his family, which must be 
contemplated, by the most indifferent, with respect and appro- 
bation, and can never be recalled by the immediate objects of so 
generous a self devotion, without the liveliest emotions of grati- 
tude. An event of the most unexpected nature was the source of 
this total change of plan : This was the sudden dereliction of his 
situation by the physician who had remained at Yarmouth in 
full possession of the field. The result is thus communicated by 
Dr. Aikin, in a letter to his sister. 

" Immediately on this event, an invitation to me was 

drawn up, and signed by almost every body of all parties in the 
town, promising their utmost support in case I would return. 
Such a testimory of respect and attachment could not but move 
me ; and the idea of immediately coming into the undisturbed 
possession of a decent competence, instead of the expensive and 
precarious struggle for distant success in London, operated very 
powerfully in a prudential view. For though I have met with 
many civilities here, and formed many agreeable acquain- 
tances, yet, on the whole, I am more sensible than before of the 
length of time and effort necessary to make ones way in town. I 
laid the whole state of the case before my nearest friends and 
relations, and we endeavoured to make some calculation of a 
moderate certainty, compared to a splendid uncertainty. But 
all seemed to agree, that prudence could not hesitate in deter- 
mining for the former. 

" Inclination pleaded most strongly, with both my wife and 
myself, to stay amidst our dearest connections, and enjoy that 
sweet society which would soon be probably augmented by so 
dear an addition as yourselves. But the good of our family was 
,a consideration not to be surmounted, and we could not make 
ourselves easy in hazarding their advantage for the sake of our 
own enjoyment. I was compelled, therefore, to accept the flat- 
tering offer made me ; and as the case would not admit delay, I 
wrote immediately, and am to go down to take possession of my 
post to-morrow 

" To attempt to describe the crowd of mixed emotions which 
agitate me on this occasion, would only aggravate whatever there 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 69 

is in them distressing and unpleasant. I see at once all that I 
lose, — the great, the lasting sacrifices that I make. My com- 
pensation is to be that state of tranquillity and security which 
it requires time and leisure to enjoy completely, and the opera- 
tion of which, though great in the scale of life, is not to be re- 
presented in striking colours. All that remains for us is, to make 
the best advantage of every opportunity of happiness that lies in 
our way, and acquiesce as well as we can in every privation and 
disappointment.'' 

That every sacrifice of lower motives of action to higher, — of 
the selfish principle to the social, — is immediately and certainly 
rewarded by the internal emotions of the individual, and in most 
cases by the concurring sentiments of others, is the great truth 
■which cannot be too often repeated, or too variously illustrated; 
and it will, on this account, be useful, as well as satisfactory, to 
contemplate the state of mind exlnbited in the following pas- 
sages of a letter to Dr. Haygarth: 

" Your very kind letter, and the decided approbation you be- 
stow on my late removal, give me peculiar satisfaction. Indeed, 
all my friends unite in telling me I have determined wisely, ac- 
cording to a collected view of all the circumstances: — even my 
friend Mr. B — y, who, with yourself, was always a stimulator of 
my ambition, is compelled to the same conclusion. 

" I have now been here a month, and find my situation, with 
regard to the respect with which I am treated, and the emolu- 
ments I enjoy, fully equal to my expectations. I also feel much 
pleasure in becoming again a man of business, filling a post of 
some use and consequence in society. I have just purchased a 
very good and pleasant house, which every body says is an ex- 
tremely cheap bargain. My wife and family are as yet in town 
or elsewhere, and I am in lodgings. But I hope soon to re-com- 
mence that domestic life, which, to persons so happy in their 
connections as you and I are, is the only scene of real felicity. 

" I lately made an augmentation of my medical librarv, at a 
cheap rate, at a sale. Sauvages, Lieutaud, and some other good 
books, are among them ; and I frequently consult them by way 
of comparing what I meet with in practice, with description. I 
keep a case book, upon the plan of yours, and find it very use- 
ful and improving. 1 have already entered above a score all in 
I-atin. 

" Mr. Howard is now in Italy, from whence he means to go to 



TO MEMOIR OF 

Sicily, and thence to Constantinople. If he escapes the plague 
or a prison, I shall think him indeed heaven protected. 

"I recollect nothing else at present to communicate ; yet if 
we could have a Frodsham meeting again, how much should we 
both find to say ! But peace, ye vain regrets, — let me not dwell 
upon things that were, and ' were most deuv to me !' " 

Another letter, written to the same friend some months after- 
wards, preserves a similar tone of habitual contentedness, and 
also aftbrds some interesting notices of the pursuits and senti- 
ments of the writer. 

" How many things have I to say to you, v/hich cannot come 
within the compass of a letter ! O Frodsham, Frodsham ! but re- 
gret is vain, and even unreasonable, when, having had before us 
the advantages and disadvantages of various situations, we have 
made our choice, and have reason, on the whole, to be satisfied 
with it. I am now, as I think, perfectly settled ; and though I 
have little reason to think either that my gains will be large, or 
my reputation extended, I know not where, upon the whole, I 
could be better. My London expedition is like a strange dream 
to my mind, and in a few years I shall scarcely be able to con- 
sider it as a reality. I should now and then feel a little disap- 
pointment at the loss of the brilliant and lively prospects it af- 
forded, did I not immediately call to mind the circumstances of 
midwifery, rivalship, — intrigue, — meanness, — hazard, — and fa- 
mily sickness, which must have accompanied them ; and then I 
perfectly acquiesce in the change. I now live in a good house 
of my own, with a cheerful family about me, amidst agreeable 
acquaintance, in a respectable rank of life ; and want nothing 
but a little more business, both by way of employment, and for 
profit. But I can keep my head above water ; and perhaps in 
time my fame may extend to a dozen miles' distance ; and then 
I shall be some body in the world. To speak without jesting, I 
have a tolerable range southwards in Suftolk, and have already 
been called in by all the surgeons of Beccles, a good market 
town fourteen miles off. * 

" You ask me what I am doing in the literary way. Truly, 
nothing but amusing myself, and that is all I intend doing here- 
after ; for really one has such a terrible line of critics to run the 
gauntlet through, that I shall scarcely have courage again to face 
them. I employ some of my leisure in practising to write medi- 
cal Latin, for no other particular purpose than that of keeping 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 71 

my cases with some elegance. . My way is, to translate pretty 
literally a page or two of Celsus, or some other good writer, and 
the next day render it back into Latin and compare the two. I 
jiow and then scribble a few verses, and always have some enter- 
' taining book in reading, which prevents time from hanging heavy 
upon my hands. As for philosophy, chemistry, and ihe other 
studies which require close attention and much application, I 
think in my present situation I do most wisely in letting them 
slip by. What are they now to me, further than an amusement? 
and I own I find little amusement in them. The musae elegan- 
tiores were always more to my taste. 

" But ipse quid audes ? You say nothing of your own pursuits, 
nor in what way you are now consulting the public good ; for as 
every man has his amusement, that was always yours. Do you 
keep the small pox at bay yet ? Do you defy infectious fevers ? 
Are all the youth of Chester instructed and humanised under 
your plans ? What are your favourite books ? Have you read 
Cowper's Task ? If you have, you will join with him in saying 
♦ England, with all thy faults I love thee still, my country !' The 
ardour of his soul will in some degree correspond with yours, 
and I doubt not that you will be struck with his poetic beauties, 
which I think in some respects almost unequalled. Yes, I do 
think upon the whole ours a very tolerable country, nor would I 
quit it even to be a Dutch or American republican. 

" With respect to my friends the Dutch, I own I admire their 
spirit, and augur well as to the issue of the patriotic cause. Why 
need a republic tie themselves to the control of hereditary fools, 
contrary to the fundamental principles of their state .^ There 
will be no civil war, I dare say ; and foreign powei-s will prevent 
each other from hurting them. You have guessed whence the 
account of the Dutch visit to this place proceeded. I believe 1 
shall frequently send a trifle to the Gentleman's Magazine, and 
since that, have inserted there an account of our maritime plants, 
and an Apology for Literary Physicians." 

Various were the resources which occurred to Dr. Aikin for 
filling up his intervals of leisure during the year 1787. At the 
earnest request of his friend Dr. Percival, he received his eldest 
son into his house, for the purpose of initiation in medical stu- 
dies, and this connection subsisted with mutual satisfaction for 
more than a year ; though the preference of the pupil for the 
clerical profession, proved in the end insuperable. Another 



72 MEMOIR OF 

source ot employment was supplied to him by the return of Mr 
Howard from the long and perilous journey referred to in a pre- 
vious extract. Previously to his departure, this gentleman had 
been furnished at his own request, by Dr. Jebb and my father, 
with a set of queries relative to the plague, to be addressed to 
the medical practitioners of such ports of the Levant as he pro- 
posed to visit : and on his return, he put the answers to these 
queries, with such other documonts respecting this dreadful 
malady as he had been able to procure, into the hands of my 
father, who compiled from them all the medical part ot Mr. 
Howard's work on Lazarettos. Several of these documents were 
in Italian ; and it was for the purpose of understanding them that 
he taught himself that language ; the poets, historians and bio- 
graphers of which afterwards proved to him an invaluable source 
of instruction and delight. Some of his earliest impressions 
respecting the Italian poets are thus communicated to Mrs. 
Barbauld. 

"....You may imagine that amid all these engageruents, 
Italian has not been much pursued. I have however read through 
the Jlminta; and with more pleasure than I could have supposed 
an idle love tale could now have given me. There are, indeed, 
some charming passages, and I could easily trace some of our 
most admired poets as imitators of this original. Did you never 
feel the pleasure one experiences in meeting with a passage in 
its right place already familiar to us in quotation ? I felt this 
highly on finding in the Aminta those beautiful lines quoted in 
the Nouvelle Heloise, " Congiunti eran I'alberghi," &c. I have 
also read the Siroe of Metastasio, the plot of which is, to be 
sure, gloriously absurd. His lovers are so pitifully tame and 
humble, and his heroines such insolent viragoes, that I feel very 
little interest in their affairs." 

During the year 1788, he was employed in the composition of 
his popular little work, England Delineated. He described it to 
. be his intention here " to sketch a bold and strong outline, where- 
by the discriminating character of each county may be impress- 
ed on the mind ;" and I may be permitted to remark, that there 
were few things in which his peculiar talent shone more than in 
this kind of spirited sketching. The uncommon clearness both 
of his ideas and his style, enabled him, with a few strokes, to con- 
vey images at once distinct and lively ; and his works for young 
people abound with these bird's-eye t;iez^5 of various departments 



])R. JOHN AIKIN. 75 

of knowledge, which he thought it advantageous early to spread 
before them, that they might be enabled immediately to arrange, 
with an approach at least to accuracy, such ideas of detail as they 
should afterwards accumulate. Few of his works were execut- 
ed with more pleasure to himself than this : geograpliical and 
topographical pursuits were always congenial to his taste ; in its 
least attractive* forms, knowledge of this kind was welcome to his 
mind, and when embellished by the charms of eloquence and 
poetry, a source of high delight. I have often witnessed the ad- 
miration with which he perused the description of the site of 
Constantinople, and the other geographical delineations traced 
by the masterly hand of Gibbon ; and the enthusiasm with which 
he dwelt upon the spXendkl panoramas of the ancient world ex- 
hibited fay Milton in his Paradise Lost, and Paradise Regained.* 
Another occupation of the leisure of this year, but rather of a 
professional than literary nature, w^as the preparation of another 
new edition of Lewis's Materia Medica, with all the alterations 
of the last London Pharmacopoeia, and two or three new articles. 
He was likewise engaged in initiating in the elements of medi- 
cine, the second son of Dr. Percival, who had taken his brother's 
place under his tuition, and entered upon professional studies 
with such ardour and success as to excite high hopes of future 
eminence, which were unhappily frustrated by an untimely death. 
About the same time, various circumstances conspired to lead 
him on in a train of thought, which afterwards broke forth in such 
a variety of forms in his writings, and influenced his conduct in 
so many important particulars, that it will be proper to trace its 
origin and progress. He had early learned from the precepts 
and example, doubtless, of his excellent father, to regard 
the diflerent degrees of moral worth and intellectual profi- 
ciency as the only really important distinctions among man- 
kind. In consequence of this estimate of things, no man was 
ever, not in theory alone, but in practice, less of a respecter of 



* Be3i\les the merit of llie plan ami geiift-al execution, Englami Delineated had 
that of bringing before the public a verv consiiierable quantity of nt-vv and accurate 
inforniation concerning particular towns wnd districts, obtained from many respect- 
able correspondents to whom diligent application was made by the author. This 
■work received considerable accessions in several successive editions; and a new mo- 
dification of llie woik, comprising many fresh hi;ads of inform;'tion, was published in 
one closely printed octavo volume, under the title of England Described ; Baldwin, 
Cradock,and Joy. 1819, 

K 



74 MEMOIR OF 

persons ; for while he disdained to pay court to the ignorant and 
the profligate, whatever their rank and fortune, or their ability 
to promote his own worldly interests, he always discovered a 
benevolent willingness to enter into conversation with persons^ 
in the humblest stations, if possessed of decent manners, and of 
the disposition to seek, or the power to communicate, useful 
knowledge, of whatever kind. As a medical man,4iis intercourse 
with the lower classes was constant and extensive ; — for his gra- 
tuitous assistance was always at their free disp*al, — and in the 
situations in which he saw them, he often found himself called 
upon to pay homage to their social and domestic virtues, while 
he compassionated their sufferings and deplored their hardships. 
The combined result, then, of his principles and his experience 
was, a remarkable degree of fellow feeling with the poor, a desire 
to raise them in their own estimation and that of others to what 
he regarded as their due level, and a fixed opinion that the ex- 
treme inequality of conditions was both an evil and an injustice 
of the greatest magnitude, and one which it was the duty of a 
government calling itself free and enlightened, to take measures 
for lessening. The state of the poor in Norfolk at the period of 
his removal thither, was peculiarly calculated to give force to 
these ideas. A long and progressive diminution of demand for . 
the woollen fabrics of Norwich, had gradually impoverished the' 
labouring classes throughout a considerable district; and the 
alarming increase of poor's-rates consequent upon tiieir inability 
to find regular employment, had suggested various plans for the 
cheaper maintenance of persons who had become chargeable to 
their parish. Among these was the erection of houses of indus- 
try, two or three of whicli had been established on what was 
regarded as an improved plan, and were zealously patronised 
by the county magistrates. A visit to one of these, made under 
the conduct of a zealous friend and advocate of the design, had 
the unexpected effect of suggesting to Dr. Aikin the following 
remarks, which first appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
January, 1788, and afterwards received the distinction, highly 
valued by their author, of being re-printed by Mr. Howard, at his 
own expense, in a separate form for general circulation : 

" At a time when so many new schemes are in agitation for 
the better management of the poor, wliile objections are raised 
against them all, and yet all acknowledge that some alterations 
and improvements are necessary, I beg to be indulged with the 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 73 

insertion of a few observations, on two points which ought to be 
considered previously to the establishment of any new mode, 
and a proper attention to which ini^ht decide the preference due 
to one above another. These points are, the rights of the 
POOR, and the comforts of the poor. 

" With respect to the Poor Man's rights, I presume they are 
naturally the same with the rich man's. Set the prince and the 
basket maker together upon a desolate island, and it is certain 
the birth of the former will not be so good a plea for superiority 
as the skill of the latter. But in a stale of society, the rights of 
the poor man must be estimated by the sacrifices he has made 
(or has acquiesced in) for the benefit of that society. Now these 
are great indeed. He has resigned to the landlord all his share 
of the ground which his own hands cultivate ; not reserving to 
himself so much as will bury him. He has lent to the merchant 
and manufacturer the use of his limbs, as an engine to procure 
them wealth, at a rate much below their real value. He has re- 
linquished, to those who are called his betters, all claim to power, 
rank, title, and respect, and is content to swell the pomp of 
state by the contrast he exhibits of meanness opposed to gran- 
deur; without which comparative relation neither of them would 
exist. What then, in such an unequal distribution, is left him ? 
Surely the security, at least, that his condition shall not become 
still worse (unless by his own fault) ; and that, like the bee which 
resigns her treasures to man, he may remain unmolested in his 
hive, and be fed with a portion of that honey which he collects 
for his masters. If this be denied him, will he not be apt to call 
for a fresh division of the common property, and say, " Give me 
the portion of good things which falleth unto me i*" Heavy as is the 
burden of poor rates, 1 suppose the opulent do not wish for such 
a liquidation of the account. I conceive it, therefore, to be the 
right of the poor man, at all events, and notwithstanding the bur- 
dens which may seem to press upon the rich, to be secured in 
the continuance of the humble enjoyments belonging to his sta- 
tion. A willingness to labour is all the return that can be re- 
quired of him. If, either by age or sickness, he is rendered in- 
capable of labour, or if no work can be found for him, he may 
still demand his usual scanty share from those, who, without 
labouring any more than he, are supplied with abundance out, of 
the general stock. It is not enough, then, to provide for the poor, 
by keeping their souls and bodies together in the cheapest manner 



r6 MEMOIR OF 

possible ; they are to be maintained in the possession of their 
comforts. 

" What are the poor man's comforts ? They lie in a sixiall 
compass ; and therefore ought to be the more sacred. 

"One great source of comfort to the poor man is his unfe and 
children, \(\iti be not overbiudened by them. Despised and in- 
significant as he may be abroad, he is of some consequence at 
home. He finds there those who care for him, who obey him ; 
-to whom he may say, Go, and they go ; and Come, and they come. 
He is not without a sense of the charities of father, son, and hus- 
band ; and, when sick and dispirited, it is the greatest of his com- 
forts to be attended upon by those who love and regard him. 
There may be some dunger oT sinking even a stout heart by the 
forcible separation of husband and wife, parents and children, in 
times of sickness and distress ; nor would one surely wish them 
to be entirely indifferent to each other. 

" The poor man, poor as he is, loves to cherish some idea of 
property : — to say, my house, my garden, my furniture ; and when 
his whole domestic establishment goes to wreck on a removal to. 
a workhouse, he is weak enough to grieve a little at the loss of 
things that by use were become precious to him. He does not 
like to consider himself only as a lodger or a guest, though in a 
much finer mansion than his own ; — he does not wear with satis- 
faction clothes, though warm, that belong to the commwniV?/, and 
not to himself. And are not these respectable prejudices.^ 

"The poor man is comforted under his poverty by thinking 
himself/ree. This freedom of his, God knows, is circumscribed 
by such a number of imperious necessities, that it is reduced to 
little in eff'ect; but he pleases himself in in?iagining that he pos- 
sesses it ; and that he may go out or come in, work or play, at 
his own option. He likes to be the judge of his own wants, and 
to provide for them after his own manner. He even chooses to 
have the determination whether he shall boil or bake his Sunday's 
dinner. Then he cannot be easy under confinement, abhors the 
thought of being under lock and key, and thinks no man deserves 
a prison who has not committed a crime. To be a cypher in 
the state, and therefore a slave, according to the idea of some 
political theorists, does not hurt him at all ; but he has a mortal 
dislike to arbitrary rule exercised over all his actions. And is 
it in England that one would wish to extinguish these feelings I 
"Lastly, the poor man places some of his comfort (often, it 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 17 

nust be acknowledged, too much of it) in socio/ and comimalcn- 
joymenfs. The bare mention of these, in a poor man, strikes 
many with the idea of great criminalty, and the appellations of 
drunken and idle are liberally bestowed with great indignation. 
To get drunk, and squander at an ale-house what ought to main- 
tain his f\imily, is undoubtedly very wrongin a poor man; but 
that, after a hard day's or week's labour, he should love to relax 
a little in that place which aftords "an hour's importance to the 
poor man's heart," is surely so natural that it cannot deserve 
much censure. The evening chat at a neighbour's door, the 
Sunday's church yard politics, the holiday festivities, the rustir 
games, and athletic exercises, are as welcome to the labourer, as 
the Opera-house and Almack's to the lord ; and who will say, 
that the pleasures of the former are not as well earned as those 
of the latter ? Without these sweeteners, what w^onld be the bit- 
ter cup of a poor man's life ! What is the life of him who is 
compelled to sustain a tasteless and melancholy being within the 
barred precincts of a workhouse, where the names of freedom, 
property, and cheerfulness, are unknown ?" 

Similar views are further opened in a letter addressed to a 
medical friend, in the autumn of the same year. 

"The state of the poor has indeed considerably occiipied my 
thoughts, and I heartily wish their situation was bettered, not 
only by the exertions of private charity, but by a spirit of justice, 
and a due sense of the natural equality of mankind. Their state 
is, indeed, so bad in many respects, that considering they form 
the great bulk of the community, it ought, I think, to diminish 
our boasts of a perfect form of constitution, and incite us to 
some extensive and effectual reform. As I have no idea of the 
value of human life, independent of its happiness, I am ready to 
acknowledge that the preservation of the lives of the infant poor 
is not, of itself, any great object with me ; and 1 am convinced 
that till they are themselves interested in the safety of their chil- 
dren, no|>ublic institution for preventing the spread of the small 
pox or other contagious diseases among them will avail. I al- 
ways thought it a kind of solecism to pay people for taking care 
of their oivn children ; and in the present state of things I think 
it quite enough to offer them gratuitously the best means of pre- 
servation. It hurts me to have the poor treated as absolutely 
irrational animals. Give them rights and comforts,— make life 



78 MEMOIR OF 

an object of desire to them, — and then they will take care oi 
themselves." 

The bearing of these sentiments on his political ideas is made 
evident by a subsequent passage in the same letter. 

" I did not expect my political ode* would altogether please 
yon; but I value the frankness with which you tell me it does 
not. I cannot, however, allow that its sentiments go to the de- 
struction of our constitution, which surely, inasmuch as it is a 
free one, comes under my definition of a commonwealth, viz. one 
in which the basis of the legislative power is laid in the body of 
the people. I only wish strongly to inculcate this leading idea, 
the fair conclusion from which 1 take to be, that the popular par' 
of our constitution is the only essential part, and that the res 
is valuable solely as it secures the safe and temperate exercise 
"of thi^. To this state of political opinion, I have been gradually 
led by following, as fairly as I was able, and in opposition to 
former prejudices, a few simple principles; and nothing but a 
train of still more conclusive reasoning will probably induce me 
to change. It is, however, one of those subjects on which I can 
very well agree to differ with my friends." 

It was in this state of his feelings, that the French revolution 
broke upon the wprld ; and it will not appear wonderful that he 
should have been found in the number of its warm admirers, 
when it is recollected that its commencements were universally 
hailed by the friends of popular rights, in this and other countries, 
as the auspicious dawn of a new era of light and happiness. 

But, it is well known that, even from the beginning, long be- 
fore its progress was stained with blood and horrors, this great 
event was viewed with extreme jealousy by a majority of the 
higher classes in England, and especially by the established cler- 
gy; and that in most of our commercial towns, which have al- 
ways been the strong holds of the protestant dissenters, and in 
corporate towns especially, the aristocratic and democratic par- 
ties, as they were then called, nearly coincided with the dis- 
tinction of churchmen and dissenters. This division was ren- 
dered more exact, and the feelings which attended it doubly 
acrimonious, by the proceedings relative to the repeal of the cor- 
poration and test acts, which happened to coincide in time with 



' 



* Oile to the Ginius of"a CoramonwcaUii, afterwards published among his Poems, 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 79 

the promulgation of the new constitution of France. When, in 
March, 1790, the dissenters found the abolition of this invidious 
law, which had nearly been carried in a former session, finally 
rejected by the votes of an overwhelming majority of the House 
elf Commons, they were stung with a keen sense of the injustice 
of their country ; and the best pens among them were sharpened 
for an appeal to public opinion, — the only resource which was 
eft them. Bound to the dissenters by the ties of birth, connec- 
tions, and personal obligations. Dr. Aikia did not hesitate on 
this occasion to stand forth as their champion; and two strongly 
written painplilets attested his zeal in the cause These pieces 
[were published anonymously, but without any precautions for 
the concealment of the writer from the inquiries of either friends 
br foes. 

In those days of party violence, no one whose situation was in 
any respect a dependent one, was permitted to take the weaker 
side with impunity ; nor was it long before Dr. Aikin was made 
to bear the penalty of his conscientious and disinterested efforts. 
Of the clergy resic'ent in and near Yarmouth, whose literary ac- 
quirements and polished manners had hitherto rendered theni 
his most congenial and agreeable associates, one alone had the 
courage and the liberality to stand by him without wavering in 
this season of trial. The members of the corporation and the higk 
party generally, though not without some honourable exceptions, 
were pleased to consider themselves as absolved, by circum- 
stances, from the engagement to support him, into which they had 
voluntarily entered on his coming to Yarmouth ; and after stu- 
dying to make him feel in various modes the weight of their dis- 
pleasure, they entered into secret machinations for inviting ano- 
ther physician to take up his abode among them. 

Meanwhile he continued to bear his head erect, as a man con- 
scious of none but worthy motives, and prepared to stand to the 
consequences of his actions without shrinking ; — but his natural 
•disposition was so averse to turbulence and strife, that he could 
"not see himself engaged, however innocently, in a conflict of this 
nature, without experiencing the most uneasy emotions ; and he 
privately resolved, if the storm did not soon blow over, to yield 
\to its fury and fly to the shelter of some friendly port. 

The following poetical epistle, addressed to one of the dearest 
of his friends, expresses with great truth and feeling tiie fluctua- 



80 MEMOIR OF 

lions of his mind at this period, on contemplating the doubtful 
futurity which lay before him: 

r.l'ISTLE TO THE IIEV. W. ENFIELD, L. L. D. 

0>. PERUSING IN MANUSCRIPT HIS ABRIDGEMENT OF BUUCKER's 
HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. 

Despicere mule queas alios, patsimgue videre 
J^rrare atque viam paUmtes quxrere idtx. — Luchft. 

" O Friend, to wtiose clear sight the mystic roll 
Of wisdom lies display 'd, wliet-p spreading wide 
Fi-oni India's, Egypt's, or ChHldea's root. 
Thro' fertile Grecian bi'anches, to the boughs 
And twigs innunierous of a later growth, 
Th( Tree of Knowledge stands, opake and full, 
(I ween, not fruitless, like the shady elm 
Of Orcus, where each leaf conceai'd a dream,) 
Suspend thy toil severe, and deign awhile 
On me, thy old cnmpi'nion, long belov'd, 
Much favour'd, to bestow the precious boon 
Of open converse, such as fiiendship loves 
And freedom dictates. Many a school-drawn knot, 
Tongh wel) of sophistry, and (angled skein 
Of iTictHphysic, by thy skilful hand 
1 see unravell'd, and with thee can soar, 
Borne by the pnfTy, gas-inflated ball 
Of speculation, to those fields of air 
Whire elements are bi-ed and system's nurs'd. 
But, for such subtle regions all too gross, 
I gravitate to earth, and rather love 
By clear llissus, or the shady groves 
OfTusculum, orTibnr's still retreats, 
To court the placid power o^ moral truth. 
Come, then, ray friend, whose pure benignant breast 
Is wisdom's best interpreter, O come. 
And leach me bow to live ; for, sure, 'tis time. 
When from the trsiVeller's gaze the westering sun 
Posts down the sky, 'tis time his course were fix'd. 

"What, then, is man's chief bliss? — to lift the sou!. 
By lonely contemplation, to tin- source 
Of good and fair, with Reason's essence pure 
To feed the thought; and on the trivial scene 
Of sublunary things look down unmov'd, 
Sclf-honour'd, self-dependent — or to call 
Each potent eni-rg) to active use. 
And uige the flying moments with the weight 
Of strong exertion, pressing aideni on 
To some bright point of distance, — or to stea! 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 81 

With loitering foot along tiie vale obscure, 

And pluck gay flowers, and dally with the time 

In careless sport, and song, and converse sweet. 

Delightful interchange ! — or, plodding on. 

With rule in hand, with grave and measur'd step. 

To pace the level, line-drawn avenue. 

Where business, meals, and sleep, in ordor due, 

Like shrubs and statues in a Dutchman's walk, 

Succeed unvaried ? Say, in which of these. 

The paths of human life, her fairy tread 

Has Happiness imprinted ? Shall we try. 

By beating wide the ground, to catch a glimpse 

Of the still-flying phantom ; or pursue 

With heedful diligence one chosen track? 

For me, whom Fate has destin'd to the round 

Of sober business, and as sober joys ; 

Whose roving wing is dipt ; whose eager eye, 

Agaze for distant wonders, must contract 

Its narrowed focus to a map and book ; 

W^ho, for the vivid flash of living wit 

And voice-clad eloquence, must court the beams 

That shine in faint reflection from the page; 
How shall I best preserve the genial flame 

Alive wiihin my breast? How trim the lamp 

And clear from gathering dregs and vapours dim ? 

Soon, soon, the brief delights ot sense must fail ; 

And buoyant spirits, from the rapid tide 

Of youthful blood evolv'd, wax tame and dull. 

What then shall save me from the palsying grasp 

Of cold Indifference, leagued with sick Disgust, 

Slack Listlessness, and sulkn Melancholy ! 

Terrific group ! Will poring o'er the leaves 

Of sage Philosophv, with elbow chair. 

Fire side, and winking taper, chase away 

These black intruders ? Ah ! too well I know. 

Already know, how hang the heavy hours 

Of studious indolence that only seeks 

In thoughts of other men to lose its own. 

Then shall I seize the quill ? screw high each chord 

That vibrates in the brain ; dilate the breast 

With mighty heavings; rouse the throbbing heart 

With keen emotions ; touch with noble fire. 

And pour the glowing torrrent on the page ? 

Or, arm'd with patient industry, lead on 

To slow maturity some fair design. 

The child of use and knowledge, which may stand 

A monument for ages ? such as thine, 

Whei-e learning, sense, and lucid order, clad 

In clear expression, frame a perfect whole. 

Or rather, pens and books thrown far aside. 

Relume Ambition's fire, with desperate plunge 

Rush in the crowd, and elbowing on my way 



82 MEMOIR OF 

Thro' friends, thro' foes, and fierce Contention's din, 
Catch at some gilded prize, some meteor gay, 
And, haviBg touch'd it — drop ! 

"Thus void of certain aim, not straying wide^ 
Perplex'd, not lost, I take my dubious way.j 
And wilt not thou a triendly arm extend 
To point my footsteps, and with cheering voice 
Exhort to steadfast march and bold advance ? 
Long, in the prime of manhood, side by side 
We ran, and joy 'd to give the mutual hand 
In paths obscure and rugged : — sever'd now 
I miss the tlear companion of my road, 
And wander lonely. Yet, what Fate allows, 
Let me not vvant; — the frequent wnrds of love. 
The prudent counsel, admonition kind. 
And all tiie freeo'eiflowiiigs of the soul. 
In letler'd intercourse ; — and, sometimes, too, 
More valu'd, as moi-e rare, the Friend entire. 

Next to the endearments of domestic affection, which my fa- 
ther ever regarded as the best sweeteners of human life, he con- 
tinued to prize the resources offered by letters ; and in the midst 
of troubles and anxieties which would have left the majority of 
men but few spare thoughts at their disposal, he found in him- 
self energy to plan and execute for the public more than one 
literary labour. The first of these, indeed, sprung from an im- 
perious sense of duty towards the memory of a man whom he 
revered perhaps beyond all others. In the summer of 1789, al- 
most immediately after the completion of the work on Lazaret- 
tos, in the composition of which Dr. Aikin has assisted him, the 
excellent Mr. Howard, whose sense of public duty was not to be 
satisfied with the inconveniences, toils, and perils which he had 
already confronted in the cause of humanity, set out on a new 
mission, which he proposed to render longer than any of his 
previous ones; for besides re-visiting Turkey, Russia, and some 
other countries, it was his intention to extend his tour into the 
East. He passed through Holland and the north of Germany to 
Petersburgh, thence to Moscow, and thence to Cherson in the 
Crimea, where a fever, caught in the exercise of some of his acts 
of benevolence, terminated his high career on January 20th, 
1790. When he perceived his end approaching, Mr. Howard 
delivered his memorandums of the journey in which he was then 
engaged to the servant who attended him, with a written request 
that they might be fitted for publication by Dr. Price and Dr. 



Dll. JOHN AlKIN. 88 

Aikin. The infirm state of health into which Dr. Price had 
fallen, caused the task to devolve wholly on my father ; who, 
after he obtained possession of the papers from the executors, 
which was not done without considerable delay and difficulty, 
lost no time in preparing from them a narrative which was print- 
ed as an appendix to the work on Lazarettos. 

But this effort was far from fulfilling his earnest desire of do- 
ing honour and justice to the memory of so revered and lament- 
ed a friend, and so distinguished an ornament not only of his 
age and country, but of human nature itself. The extraordinary 
exertions of Mr. Howard had fixed the wonder and admiration 
of all the countries which he had visited in the performance of 
his beneficent mission ; and in many of these he had not only re- 
ceived from the highest authorities strong testimonies of perso- 
nal respect and deference, but, what he valued much more, his 
opinions had been listened to, his plans and suggestions adopt- 
ed, and extensive benefit had resulted to the unfortunate objects 
of his care and protection. At home, his evidence on the sub- 
ject of prisons had been heard with deep attention by the House 
of Commons, which had voted him its thanks for his philanthro- 
pic exertions, and passed certain acts for the purpose of giving 
effect to his plans of reform, especially one for the erection of 
penitentiary houses, under the inspection of three supervisors, 
of whom he was named the first. But virtue so exalted in its 
quality, so singular in its mode of operation, and, above all, so 
conspicuous and so successful, could not be expected to escape 
the open hostility of selfishness and corruption, the covert in- 
sinuations of envy and detraction, or the misrepresentations of 
vulgar credulity; and no sooner was it known that he was finally 
removed from the scene, than a thousand absurd or malevolent 
reports which had hitherto circulated in conversation alone, 
found their way into magazines and newspapers, and perplexed 
or prejudiced the public judgment. It was important to rescue 
the memory of such a man from injury by a just statement of his 
actions and motives ; and with respect to his public life and ser- 
vices, no one could be accounted better qualified to give such 
a statement, than one who had been selected by himself to assist 
in the composition of his works, and had enjoyed during many 
years the benefit of so much confidential discourse with him on 
his favourite objects. Accordingly, Dr. Aikin was strongly uro-ed 
both by Mr, Howard's friends and his own, to undertake the 



84 MEMOIR OF 

office of his biographer, and their entreaties were powerfully 
seconded by the promptings of own mind. But the unaccount- 
able hostility to this excellent person's memory exhibited by his 
nearest kinsman, who was his heir and one of his executors, oppos- 
ed obstacles to the obtainment of proper materials for a history of 
the earlier and more private part of his life, which it appeared 
ditiicult to overcome ; especially as Dr. Aikin's place of resi- 
dence cut him olV from opportunities of personal intercourse 
wil'i vhe persons best informed in these particulars. At length 
however these difficulties M^ere overcome by the zealous assist- 
ance of Mr. Howard's real friends, and in 1792 Dr. Aikin pub- 
lished, in a small octavo volume, "A View of the Character and 
Public Services of the late John Howard, Esq. L L. D. F. B. 6'." 
This work comprises a full account of the events of Mr. How- 
ard's life, of the origin and progress of his inquiries into the 
state of prisons, hospitals, and lazarettos; and of his travels in 
pursuit of his peculiar objects ; interspersed with a copious 
analysis of his various publications. It concludes with a view of 
his character interspersed with illustrative anecdotes, somewhat 
in the style of those very agreeable pieces, the French Eloges, 
The strongly marked features of Mr. Howard's character, the 
extraordinary nature of his exertions, as well as the loftiness 
and purity of the principles and motives from which they sprung, 
and the deep feeling of his subject evinced by his biographer, all 
conspire to impart a deep and peculiar interest to this piece j 
and at the present day, when the subject of prison discipline, to 
which Mr. Howard was the first to draw the attention of the 
public, has called forth thp h^^nevnlpnt efforts of so many fellow 
labourers in the cause of humanity, it seems likely to meet with 
more general acceptance than at the period of its publication. 

A few months previously to the appearance of his life of Mr. 
Howard, Dr. Aikin printed a small volume of Poems, partly ori- 
ginal, partly translations or imitations ; none of these pieces are 
■ of considerable length, and their topics are very various. Those 
of the number are in all respects the best, which bear a reference 
to the actual circumstances of the writer, and express his own 
feelings and habitual trains of thought. Three of these, Hora- 
tian Philosophy, the Epistle to Mrs. Barbauld, and that to Dr. 
Ejifield, have been inserted in the present memoir, under the 
years in which they were composed ; and as the volume was 
never re-printed, I shall not scruple to avail myself somewhat 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. »5 

further of its contents. The spirit of liberty is the pervading 
soul of a large proportion of the pieces ; and the author, fully 
resolved to assert at all hazards the right of expressing the opi- 
nions which he had deliberately formed, ventured to prefix to the 
collection a Counter remonstrance, in answer to the prudential 
representations of Iriends, some passages of which are too clia 
racteristic of the author to be omitted : 

'< What want I in life to be boua,ht at the price 
Of courting proud tolly or croucliing to vice ? 
What is there should tempt me my freedom to barter^ 
Or a title to bate of an Englishman's charter ? 

Shall the mind that has drawn from the poet and sage 
Some share of the nurture of f v'ly fair age, 
Shrink back with false sh;ime, or be dazzled with awe. 
When weakness or prejudice lays down the law ? 

The first rights of nature when tyrants invade, 
And freedom and justice aloud call for aid, 
Unmov'd at the voice shall I stupidly stand 
Or raise in the conflict a timorous hand? 

O nc'ver must cold-hearted selfishness know 

The noble delights of a generous glow, 

The triumphant emotions ihat swell in the mind 

When Reason and Truth gain the cause for mankind. 

From the taste of these joys shall I meanly stoop dox^ii 
And deaden my heart with the fear of a frown ; 
Weigh a sentiment's worth with the chance of a fee, 
And throw in a scale. — • Why 'tis nothing to me ?' 

Is it nought to be lord of a liberal breast ; 

Is Truth a mere phantom, and Freedom a jest ?" 



The notices of his feelings and opinions contained in his pri 
vate correspondence are entirely conformable to the manly senti 
ments which he thus courageously avowed to the world ; and I 
shall here offer a few miscellaneous extracts from letters written 
in the years 1790 and 1791 

Many traces appear, in different parts of his works, of a desire 
to correct that blind admiration of which Dr. Johnson was for a 
considerable time the object, and the following judgment of his 
character is expressed to Mrs. Baibauld: 

"He had not, indeed; a grain of the noble enthusiasm, the calm 



Sd MEiMOIR OF 

simplicity, the elevated purpose of a great man. His temper, 
habits, and system equally disqualified him from attaining that 
character. He was able with great accuracy to compare every 
literary and moral idea with the standards in his own mind, and 
to detect all false pretensions within his own compass. But 
there were heights in both to which he could not ascend. His 
life fell far short of his vyritings, and his faults and asperities 
were rather aggravated than softened by age." 

That remarkable character Mr. Thomas Day, author of Sand- 
ford and Merton, calls forth these reflections : 

" We have just read with pleasure Keir's Life of Mr. Day. 
Nothing deserves our admiration so much as these characters of 
principle. To be amiable, only requires good nature and indif- 
ference. Weaicness has a better chance for it than virtue. What 
this age wants are, I am sure, examples of firmness and consis- 
tency ; the friends of liberty particularly should say to them- 
selves, in ea iempora naius eat, quibus fir mare animiim expediat 
constantibuH exemplisJ" 

In a letter referring to Mrs. Barbauld^s admirable poetical 
Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce, on his efforts for the abolition of the 
slave trade, which, for the time, had been frustrated of success ; 
his ardent attachment to the great interests of society thus breaks 
forth : 

" How little, how contemptible, do all the petty pursuits of 
philology appear, to the great concerns relative to man and his 
first interests which are transacting at this instant, before our 
eyes, and in which we are all invited to share ! If Solon con- 
demned the man who should remain neuter in the little party 
disputes of his country, what must be thought of him who through 
timidity or indifference refuses to take part in questions that are 
to decide the future condition perhaps of all mankind ?'' 

Some of those readers whose memory contains the stores of not 
less than thirty years, will be able to call to mind, that among 
.the measures adopted by the first zealous petitioners for the 
abolition of the slave trade, was that of persuading individuals 
to abstain, as a matter of conscience, from the consumption of 
sugar, and all other West Indian produce raised by the labour of 
slaves. To those who had studied mankind beyond the limits of 
small and peculiar sects, it was obvious, that this renunciation 
would never become sufficiently prevalent to produce any sensi- 
ble effect on the demand for commodities of such general use ; 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 87 

and on this ground of inutility alone, Dr. Aikin refused for a time 
to concur in this point with the persons around him. His change 
of opinion is thus related to his sister : 

"I am at length become a practical antisacharisf. I could not 
continue to be the only person in the family who used a luxury 
which grew less and less siveet from the reflections mingled with 
it. I do not in this matter look to effects. They are in the hands 
of Providence, and I neither expect nor despair about them. I 
resign the use of sugar, merely on the conviction that, feeling as 
I do about the mode in which it is procured, I cannot justify the 
use of it to myself. It is a personal affair to me, and I neither 
feel a desire to make converts, nor trouble myself about conse- 
quences. The sacrifice I find less than I expected, — it is indeed 
almost too little to make to principle, with the idea of merit. I 
know not whether mere economy might not do as much. But 
with respect to the young people, and even children, who have 
entirely on their own accord resigned an indulgence important 
to them, I triumph and admire ! Nothing is to be despaired of, 
\( many of the rising generation are capable of such conduct." 

The sentiments in his letters to Dr. Haygarth during this 
period are equally spirited ; indeed it rather appears that his 
friend's avowed difference of opinion on public affairs lent addi- 
tional force to his expressions ; and even the professional topics 
which always occupied a considerable share of their correspon- 
dence, are occasionally enlivened with strokes of Opposition 
politics — as in the following instance ; where the writer will also 
be found to have touched upon abuses which have since under- 
gone much pointed remark from various quarters, and exercised 
the investigation of a parliamentary committee. 

"The absurdity of the quarantine of persons in this country 
is inconceivable. Sir Charles Knowles, a naval officer here, tells 
me, that coming once from the Levant, he touched at Plymouth 
and there went on shore and called on several people : after- 
wards, on taking his ship to Portsmouth, he was obliged to per- 
form quarantine. He says he once knew a gentleman called out 
of the Opera-house to go on board his ship for a quarantine. 
Such absurdities cannot exist among Hottentots and Cherokees. 
But we have as bad in various departments. Indeed, indeed, 
my friend, this wise and enlightened nation wants a thorough 
reform in almost all its institutions, and they are its worst ene- 
mies who coax it into an idea of its consummate arood sense and 



88 MEMOIR OF 

knowledge. You are one of the greatest innovators I know, and 
I honour you for it." 

In a letter dated in December, 1790, he thus pours for his 
whole mind to his friend : 

"So, my good friend, though you make strokes at me about 
interference in politics, you could not refrain from indulging that 
triumph respecting Mr. Burke's performance which fills the 
breasts of nine-tenths of the people of England. "Who would 
think this to have been the country of the Sidneys, Lockes, &c. 
when an oratorical effusion is able to bring about that wonderful 
conviction and uniformity of opinion which is only to be expected 
upon a new subject scarcely ever before written or thought about ? 
But, in fact, the political feeling of many has never gone further 
than to compare all other forms of government with the British 
Constitution, and assign them their merits and demerits in exact 
proportions to their approach to, or departure from, that all -per- 
fect model. I certainly do not agree with you in thinking that 
a folio is necessary in reply to Mr Burke ; for setting aside what 
in him is unanswerable, and what is not worth answering, and 
being content to admire that unequalled flow of wit and brillian- 
cy which is no subject for an answer, his false principles and 
distorted reasonings will not I think require many pages to expose 
them at the bar of good sense. I assure you, however, that / 
have had no thoughts of engaging with this Achilles, nor do my 
present studies or occupations lie in the political way. I am, in 
fact, doing nothing but amusing myself, and a part of that amuse- 
ment is the publication of a few poems, which I suppose will soon 
appear. There, indeed, you will see what I thinkw\ion politics, 
and how boldly I dare tell my thoughts. In short, Jac/a est aha. 
At my age it would be trifling not to have a character, and cow- 
ardly not to avow and stick to it. Nor do I think it will be much 
at the expense of that regard to my family which you justly think 
(at least in my condition) the first of duties. If I remain con- 
tent to pace in the limited circle in which I now move, it is pro- 
bable I may continue to do so notwithstanding a few political 
squabbles. But if ambition should ever lead me into a new field, 
my success must depend upon such connections and supports as 
such a conduct will not be unfavourable to. But, believe me, 
this is no consideration of mine. I feel a pleasure in acting a 
manly independent part which is superior to any thing increased 
opulence could give ; and I know not why I should wish a dif- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 89 

ferent kind of happiness for my family than for myself. My 
dear friend, though we differ in many things, yet I am sure we 
agree in loving our families, and in valuing principles of honour 
and integrity. The account you give of your domestic happi- 
ness is highly pleasing to me. May it continually increase ! I 
am glad, too, that your thoughts and labours in the prevention 
of the small pox are again to appear, in a new form. Any ser- 
vices I can do in this, or any thing else, are at your command. . . . 
Can you suggest any close, fagging employment for my pen in 
the medical way ?" 

Meanwhile his situation at Yarmouth was becoming daily 
more disagreeable to him, and in every respect less worth his 
keeping. On the other hand, rather encouraging answers had 
been returned to the inquiries which he had authorised some of 
his nearest connections to make respecting the probability of his 
medical success in London ; and after making a hasty journey 
thither for the purpose of examining the ground with his own 
eyes, he finally resolved on removing with his family early in 
the year 1792. The last letter written by him to his friend from 
Yarmouth, thus explains his feelings and prospects at this im- 
portant juncture of his history: 

" It gives me great satisfaction, my dear friend, that you, as 
well as all my other friends and well wishers, approve the im- 
portant step I am going to take. Though in my temper 1 am neither 
sanguine or ambitious, I cannot but look forward with some pleasing 
expectations to a change in situation which will make life more va- 
luable to me, and enlarge the sphere of my activity in various 
ways. Indeed, even had I not been a victim to party bigotry in this 
place, a removal would have been on many accounts desirable, 
and principally on account of the want of stimulus, and indiffer- 
ence to every thing which was creeping on me. It was this, per- 
haps, which precipitated me into controversy by way of relief from 
insipidity; and if I have suffered in some respects from my med- 
dling, I think it has done me good in others. Do not suppose, 
however, that I go to Loudon on the plan of plunging again into 
party contests, or making myself the hero of a cause. Whatever 
violence may be imagined deducibie from my principles, my 
temper, believe me, is as moderate as ever. The strong impulse 
is over, and I shall henceforth do little more than bestow my 
warm wishes on what I deliberately think the interest of truth 
and mankind. I have, it is true, felt somewhat too much on 
M 



90 MEMOIR OF 

some of the late great events of the world ; and if the fair fabric 
of French liberty is after all to sink in blood, and tyranny and 
priestcraft again to assume the sway, I shall scarcely be able 
to bear the disappointment with perfect tranquillity. But, 
on the whole, it is my resolution to attend chiefly to my own 
concerns, and become as selfish and bustling as my best friends 
can wish. So much for my sect of philosophy ! Now to the state 
of my affairs. 

•' I have nothing now to keep me here but the want of a house 
in London ; and in order to expedite this matter, I mean again 
to run to town in about a week, where I shall stay till I have 
suited myself, and then only come down again to bid farewel 
and wind up my little concerns. My situation in town I mean 
to fix in the city, where my friends chiefly reside, and if possible 
towards the Hackney side, as 1 shall have various connections 
there. I shall practise as a physician only. At present I have 
no thoughts of giving lectures, as that can only be done to advan^ 
tage with a hospital. I mean to employ all my leisure in my 
Medical Biography, in which I am again seriously interested, 
and for which I can there easily procure every necessary aid. I 
have already completely analysed various works ; among the 
rest all Willis's ; and I am quite of your opinion, that a full view 
of the progress of medical doctrines and practice is the Tuost (or 
rather the only) important part of my design. A few literary 
schemes besides may have their place. ...... 

" I do indeed rejoice that I shall be somewhat nearer you, and 
at the grand centre of attraction, which some time or other ex- 
tends its influence to every body (who is any body) in the king- 
dom." 

In pursuance of the plans here indicated. Dr. Aikin took a 
house in Broad Street Buildings, in which he assembled his fa- 
mily in the spring of 1792, and commenced his career in the 
capacity of a London physician. Many circumstances conspired 
to render the opening of this new scene of life auspicious and 
agreeable. The near and dear connections whom he had quitted 
with regret six years before, and to whom he seemed to be re- 
turning from a tedious exile, received him and his with open 
arms; and Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld, now settled at Hampstead, 
iwere added to the number. The common attraction of the me- 
tropolis had also brought within its sphere several old and valu- 
ed friends from whom he had long been separated ; especially 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 91 

Dr. Priestley and Mr. Wakefield, who were at this time resident 
at Hackney and engaged as tutors in the new dissenting college 
there, which had been established as a successor to the War- 
rington one; and in which Dr. Aikin's eldest son was now a 
student. Many of the friends of civil and religious liberty, who 
regarded him as a kind of confessor in the cause, welcomed him 
with cordiality, and his literary character served him as a pass- 
port in other quarters. There was reason to hope under these cir- 
cumstances that his professional success would ultimately corres- 
pond with his wishes ; the characteristic moderation of which 
had undergone no change from his change of situation, as the first 
letter vhich he addressed to Dr. Haygarth from London abun- 
dantly proves. 

"I have got access to a very capital medical library, particu- 
larly rich in English medical authors, Dr. Sims's. It will be my 
own fault if I do not find employment there for all my leisure, 
for a long time ; and be assured that I find much more satisfac- 
tion in such employment than in any of the topics by which the 
world is at present agitated. Still, I know that even that is not 
what ought chiefly to engage me in the situation I now occupy, 
but rather the great and intricate science of pushing one's way 
in a crowd. Yet what man of forty-five can cast his part anew 
in life, — and after mediocrity and literary leisure have been my 
darling objects so long, how can I ever change them for their op- 
posities ? Believe me, not all the splendour I see daily passing 
before my eyes, has in the least impaired my relish for a book, 
a domestic fireside, and the society of two or three selected 
friends; and all my desires are limited to the ability of enjoy- 
ing them with security, and transmitting similar blessings to my 
children," 

His views and prospects, as well as the literary undertakings 
with which he occupied his leisure, are further explained in a 
letter to the same friend a few months afterwards. 

" In answer to your inquiries about me, I am to acquaint you 
that my professional employment, like the fame of Mercellus, ^ 
* crescit occulto velut arbor sevo.^ It is, I think, silently creep- 
ing forwards, with little chance ever to break out'into splendour, 
but I hope, with a reasonable prospect of answering my mode- 
rate expectations in time. It appears to me that in London, as 
every where else, it is a man's business to avail himself of his 
own peculiar adA'antages, and to push on in the way nature and 



92 MEMOIR OF 

fortune seem to point out to him in particular. Nom% my situa- 
tion here is that of a person not void of friends and family con- 
nections, of a certain standing and known character, and there- 
fore without the need (as 1 am sure I am without the talent) of 
puffing and elbowing like a young unknown adventurer. Our old 
friend Dr. Fothergill used to say, that he got forwards by doing 
what business he had to do, as well as ever he could. This is 
the kind of policy that best suits me. To be attentive, obliging, 
discreet, and to take all proper opportunities of displaying such, 
talents as I may possess fitted to inspire esteem, are the only 
modes that my temper will let me practise, and I believe the state 
of pub'ic opinion is not so bad that in the long run they will not 
answer. Meantime, my known engagements in medical studj 
and writing answer the purpose of giving me professional repu- 
tation among my brethren ; I take sufi&cient care to make known 
my pursuit of medical biography, and have had several books out 
of the college library, as well as from private collections. All 
these I fairly analyse, and am daily adding to my stores of this 
kind ; for my plan is now as full as you would wish it, as to giving 
a view of the opinions and practice of our medical authors. With 
respect to acquaintances among the faculty, I have made several 
slight ones, but none intimate. My old master. Dr. Garthshore, 
takes a good deal of notice of me, and at his weekly conversa- 
ziones I have met with more medical and literary persons than 
any where else, k I am no frequenter of coffee houses, those in 
the city being the resort chiefly of humdrum politicians; but I 
belong to a club or two of select men, and I take all opportuni- 
ties of becoming acquainted with eminent persons in every line. 

"I am engaged with a few literary persons in a plan of a month- 
ly publication, the purpose of which is to give an account of all 
memoirs printed by the learned societies both at home and 
abroad. We mean to afford by it full information of every thing 
new that is going forward in science and the arts, and do not 
doubt, if we perform our task properly, of making it a very use- 
ful work. We shall publish our first number in January next. 
My share will be chiefly the medical and natural history depart- 
ments. 

"As to the horrible events that are now going on in the po- 
litical world, what can I say, but that I feel them as acutely as 
you can do ? But we live to little purpose, unless we accustom 
ourselves to look through effects to their causes ; and as in this 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 93 

case I think the whole mischief imputable to the accursed spirit 
of military despotism, my resentment against tyranny is but the 
more inflamed on account of the discredit thrown by its means 
on the cause of liberty and mankind. 'Tis a strange world ; — 
my hopes fail, but not my wishes." 

Respecting the literary undertakings here referred.to, the rea- 
der is already apprised that discouragements of various kinds 
intercepted the continuation of the Medical Biography. The 
periodical work appeared under the title of Memoirs of Science 
and the Arts ; but was after a time discontinued, from causes of 
failure with which I am not acquainted. 

The critical essay on the poems of Goldsmith, re-printed in the 
present collection, was composed in this year, and my father also 
produced, in conjunction with his sister, the first volume of 
Evenings at Home — the most popular, perhaps, of all his works, 
and one of the most meritorious ; — for how can genius, know- 
ledge, and virtue be occupied with greater certainty of produc- 
ing good than in pouring their treasares upon the mind of youth r 

The volumes of this work appeared successively during seve- 
ral subsequent years, and amounted at length to six ; Mrs. Bar- 
bauld contributing in the whole about half a volume to the col- 
lection, and my father supplying the rest. 

Tt is a miscellaneous collection of tales, fables, and dialogues, 
interspersed with some short pieces of verse j the subjects are 
extremely various, and there is no arrangement or classification 
of the pieces. With this apparent desultoriness, however, no 
work for the use of young people ever had more serious or more 
definite objects in view ; and to an intelligent reader of mature 
age, its attentive perusal would disclose the whole theory and 
practice of the author, as far as education is concerned ; besides 
affording notices of his opinions on many highly important topics : 
and conveying a correct and lively impression of his temper and 
feelings, and his manner of living and conversing with his chil- 
dren in the bosom of their home. 

For the information and amusement of those happy children, 
indeed, many of the pieces were originally composed by him ; 
and in one form or other they had received the substance of most 
of them ; — for in the midst of all his studies and various occu- 
pations, he constantly discharged, in the most assiduous as well 
as engaging manner, the offices of parental instruction ; — all his 
children were occasionally under his own tuition ; but the two 



94 MEMOIR OF 

younger ones were educated entirely at home, by himself and 
their exemplary mother. 

The whole of Evenings at Home may be regarded as a com- 
mentary upon his two favourite ideas — of teaching //iing-s rather 
than ivords ; and of early presenting to the mind capacious and 
diversified views of the great empire of knowledge. The work 
contains a good deal of the natural history, both of animals and 
plants, not detailed in the dry mode of systematic compendiums, 
but animated and enriched with bold and striking sketches of the 
dwellings and manners of the living tribes, and of the general 
appearance and habits, and principal utilities of the vegetable 
families. Some elements of chemistry and mineralogy are taught 
on a similar plan, and much incidental information is conveyed 
on manufacture? and the useful arts. Other pieces relate to man, 
in various views of his state and character. The tales and little 
dramas, which exhibit great fertility and happiness of invention, 
and in some instances a melting tenderness truly characteristic 
of the author's heart, have the usual purpose of such stories, of 
combining moral instruction with entertainment : but the mo- 
rality which they inculcate is not that of children merely, but of 
men and of citizens ; it is lofty, but not visionary, correct, yet 
glowing; it forms the mind to discrimination, while it engages 
the youthful feelings in the cause of truth, of freedom, and of 
virtue. 

The state of public affairs during the disastrous year 1793, 
could excite none but painful emotions in the bosom of any lover 
of his country, and of true liberty. "How deeply it wounded the 
tranquillity of Dr. Aikin, will best appear from his unreserved 
correspondence with his dearest friends. In the month ot June 
he thus writes to one of the number : 

" I have found myself so little better acquainted with the 

interesting events that are passing, here at London, than you 
are at K., that I could not think them worth making the subject 
of a letter to you, — especially as their tenor can afford no pleas- 
ing matter for speculation. We are fairly immersed in a bloody, 
expensive, and I think, unjust war, and we must either lament 
its success, or rejoice in the calamities of ou.r country. Such an 
alternative is enough to make one draw off entirely from politi- 
cal discussion, and I do it, as much as the occasional efferves- 
cence of libera indignatio will give me leave. I am obliged to 
those of my friends who wish for the sake of my interest to re- 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 95 

duce me quite to the state of a innium pecus ; but at forty-six, if 
a man has not found out what conduces to his happiness, and has 
not acquired prudence to pursue it, I am sure little can be done 
by friends troubling themselves about him. Meantime, I doubt 
not but any part i may have taken in politics has been greatly 
exaggerated to those friends I belong to no political so- 
ciety whatever. I keep company, it is true, with persons of well 
known sentiments, who happen also to be some of my best 
friends, and I am not afraid in private companies of speaking 
without disguise. But these things I shall do at all hazards." 

With another friend he thus expostulates :- 

"I thank you for your caution, which I know proceeds from 

true kindness Seriously, however, my dear friend, I wish 

you lor a moment to reflect, what must the state of public opi- 
nion in this country be, when expressingan abhorrence of hypoc- 
risy and tyranny is to be called maintaining French principles, 
and is to subject a man to be treated like a foe to the human 
race ! I know not what prospect of public danger may haunt 
your mind, but / can foresee no possible event worse than the 
conversion of Englishmen into persecutors and slaves. If persons 
of reading and reflection are hurried along with this torrent of 
false opinion, what is left on which to found a hope of saving 
us from the lowest degradation ?" 

Towards the close of the year he thus again opens himself to 
his first correspondent : 

"With this parcel I send for your dear H. a third volume of 
Evenings at Home, and for yourself my Letters, just fresh from 
the press, and not yet published. Your free and full judgment 
concerning them will give me much satisfaction, as it is a judg- 
ment in which experience has made me confide. I cannot ex- 
pect that my opinions on such a variety of topics will meet the 
perfect concurrence of perhaps a single reader ; but if those of 
whom I think well shall approve their general spirit, and partic- 
ularly if they see nothing objectionable in the manner in which 
my notions are offered, I shall not repent that I have sent them 
forth into the world 

"The confinement of Muir and Palmer in the hulks is an ex- 
ample of tyranny scarcely, I think, legal, certainly not decent. 
It has produced here much emotion, though perhaps only in the 
breasts of those who before were enemies to the present system. 
Several persons of respectable situation and character have been 



96 MEMOIR OF 

to visit them, and they are as well treated as such a situation 
will permit. 

" There is no doubt that we shall have another campaign, 
though when Mr. Pitt comes with his demand of twenty millions 
(as I understand he will,, it may cause some blank looks among 
the country gentlemen. They are to be told, however, that every 
thing is at stake, — that their property and very existence depend 
upon the event ; — and truly I begin almost to think that it does; 
though to me it is evident that this desperate state, with respect 
to ourselves, is of our own bringing on. 

" The condition of France becomes every day more extraordi- 
nary ; — a country without religion, without laws, without settled 
government, yet from individual ardour and enthusiasm capable 
of the most surprising and regular exertions, and never more 
formidable to its foes than at this moment. A very moderate 
degree of superstition would make one hunt through old prophe- 
cies to find a clue to events otherwise inscrutable, and many 
minds seem at present to look that way. It is however, perhaps, 
no superstition to suppose that this wonderful impetus, seem- 
ingly governed by no human principles, is an instrument in the 
hands of the Deity by which he means to effect some great pur- 
poses of overturning systems which cool reason is unable to mas- 
ter. And yet — I know not if the past experience of the world 
will authorise such notions of Divine Providence. All is doubt 
and darkness ! If vv^e live to see the end, we shall be somewhat 
enlightened. 

" . . . . Pray bear up against all the plagues of your profession. 
"What profession is without them ? You have a good (an un- 
common) stock of merit of every kind to trust to. It cannot fail 
of insuring you at least a tolerable share of success. Enjoy the 
world as it goes, if you can. These are times in which long- 
sighted wisdom is arrant folly." 

Soon after, he thus writes to Dr. Haygarth : 

" Have you heard of the institution of a Literary and Philo- 
sophical Society here ? It was first thought of by Dr. Priestley, 
and a few friends joined him to set it a-going. They made me Se- 
cretary. We are now near thirty members, several of them names 
well known in science and literature. We meet once a fort- 
night, and either converse or read papers, as it happens ; but we 
are only organising as yet, and have done little. Our friend W. 
is a member ; but our founder, alas ! is going to leave us. This 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 97 

month will separate him from his native land, probably for ever. 
It throws a gloom over my mind which I cannot express. I will 
not rail or declaim on the occasion, — I only deeply lament. 

"... .1 feel as 1 ought your kind admonition to political pru- 
dence ; but too many years have gone to form my character and 
principles to admit of an easy change, nor can I find motives to, 
make me renounce the greatest pleasure of my life, that of keep- 
ing the company I like, and speaking my mind. My Letters will 
show whether I am disposed to use this liberty immoderately. I 
shall be glad at your leisure to be fairly told how the sentiments 
in them appear to you.'''' 

The Letters here referred to, formed the first volume of a work 
entitled Letters from a Father to his Son on various topics rela- 
tive to literature a^id the conduct of life, which appeared at the be- 
ginning of the year 1794, and which here requires a somewhat 
extended notice, as the most original, and, in several respects, 
the most important performance of its author. 

Of the thirty letters of which this volume is composed, about 
one-third are on subjects of taste and literature ; the rest relate 
principally to points connected with morals and the conduct of 
life. As the son to whom they were addressed had already com- 
pleted his education, and was entering upon the duties of a pro- 
fession, the topics discussed, as well as the manner of treating 
them, are adapted to the state of manhood, and it would be an 
error to regard the work as an elementary one. The author him- 
self, in the valedictory letter, desires his son to regard them as 
supplementary U) the systematic instructions which he had re- 
ceived from books and lectures. " Of such instructions," he 
adds, " it was the chief purpose to establish principles — a point 
of most essential consequence, which I hope and believe has been 
sufiiciently secured in your education. My view in writing was 
rather to place in a strong and familiar light some subordinate 
truths belonging to the experimental practice of life, which, 
though not of the fundamental importance of the former, yet are 
of no small weight in promoting a man's happiness and utility. 
With respect to the letters relative to points of taste and litera- 
ture, it has been their chief aim to obviate prejudices, and to give 
that turn to your thoughts which might enable you to judge and 
enjoy for yourself, without first appealing to the decision of a 
dictator. For freedom of thinking is the same thing in matters 
of greater and of smaller moment; and though I hold it of little 
N 



98 MEMOIR OF 

consequence how a person is pleased, provided he be innocently 
so, yet I would not wish him, even in his pleasures, implicitly to 
follow the decrees of custom and authority, lest it should induce 
the same habit of passive compliance in aifairs of capital impor- 
tance." The general purpose here avowed is closely adhered to' 
in the work, and it is interesting to observe the mode in which 
the discussion of a great variety and diversity of subjects is ren- 
dered subservient to its accomplishment. Two letters on At- 
tachment to the Jlncients, explain with sagacity and perspicuity 
the sources of the prejudices entertained on this subject, and 
suggest principles for distinguishing the intrinsic from the ad- 
ventitious value of the literature of remote ages ; Pope's Essay 
on Criticism undergoes free examination in another letter. That 
on Nature and Art, and the Love of Novelty, cautions against the 
exclusive spirit of the modern English school of taste ; and the 
subject is further pursued in the letter on Ornamantal Garden- 
ing, while that on Ruins examines another object of fashionable 
admiration. Two letters on Classification in Natural History, 
and on Buffon's Natural History, open general views of the 
philosophy of this branch of science, and caution against a blind 
and exclusive attachment to the system of either the Swedish or 
the French interpreter of nature. 

The letters on moral subjects appear to me to possess yet 
higher interest, and they inculcate still more impressively the 
free employment of reason in the investigation of truth. That 
on Strength of Character details the result of his own experience 
of life. In the early part of it, he says, that he pleased himself 
with thinking that he had not an enemy in the world ; and that 
in fact a too great facility in giving up his own interest where it 
involved points of contention, and the habit of at least not op- 
posing the opinions which he heard, had conciliated for him the 
passive regard of most of his acquaintance. But that no sooner 
did altered views and greater firmness of character incite him to 
an open declaration on important points, than he found that he 
must be content to exchange his former source of satisfaction for 
the esteem of a few ; and notwithstanding the concern which he 
had felt from the estrangement of some who had renounced pri- 
vate friendship with him on public grounds, he concludes by de- 
cidedly advising his son not to be intimidated from openlj 
espousing the cause he thinks a right one, by the apprehension 
of any man's displeasure. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 99 

The three letters On the Pursuit of Improvement, On the In- 
equality of Conditions, and On the Prevalence of Truth, unfold 
his views respecting the deductions to be made from the present 
condition of mankind relative to the real character and destin}^ 
of the species ; and the hopes to be entertained of a progressive 
melioration of the state of the world. These are among his best 
pieces of reasoning, and those which most entitle him to the cha- 
racter of a philosopher ; but the practical wisdom of those on 
Cheap Pleasures and on Independence, in which the writer speaks 
with all the authority of personal experience, has perhaps ob- 
tained for them the suffrages of a larger class of readers ; while 
that on Consolation will be esteemed by all who knev/ him as one 
of the most precious records of his mind and heart. 

Of the remaining letters contained in this volume, nearly the 
whole are referable to one or other of the classes already indi- 
cated and partake the same characteristics ; and none of them 
appear to call for any particular remarks except that on the 
Choice of a Wife. In this piece, the author's ideas of the per- 
fection of female character are strongly expressed ; and I wish 
particularly to invite attention to them, because he always ap- 
peared to me the sincerest friend of the female sex that I have 
ever known. After stating the two main points on which the 
happiness to be expected from a female associate in life must 
depend, to be, — " !ier qualifications as a companion, and as a 
helper ;" and enforcing this idea from various considerations, he 
thus concludes : 

" I confess myself decidedly of the opinion of those who 
would rather form the two sexes to a resemblance of character, 
than contrast them. Virtue, wisdom, presence of mind, patience, 
vigour, capacity, application, are not sexual qualities ; they be- 
long to mankind, — to all who have duties to perform and evils to 
endure. It is surely a most degrading idea of the female sex, 
that they must owe their induence to trick and finesse, to coun- 
terfeit or real weakness. They are too essential to our happi- 
ness to need such arts ; too much of the pleasure and of the busi- 
ness of the world depends upon them, to give reason for appre- 
hension that we shall cease to join partnership with them. Let 
them aim at excelling in the qualities peculiarly adapted to the 
parts they have to act, and they may be excused from affected 
languor and coquetry. We shall not think them less amiable 
for being our best helpers." 



100 MEMOIR OF 

To this I may add, that the view which he took of women as 
the cotnpanions, contradistinguished from the playthings of men, 
and the opinion which he often inculcated, that the talent of 
conversation was the first of all social accomplishments, led him 
to encourage females in the pursuits of every kind of acquire- 
ment capable of contributing to the enjoyments of cultivated 
society. Education indeed, in both sexes equally, he regarded 
as the process of preparing a human being to fulfil duties and to 
enjoy and impart happiness ; and he opposed, with respect to 
both, the practice of occupying a large portion of the period of 
instruction in the acquisition of branches of learning totally 
alien from what were likely to be the objects and pursuits of 
maturer life. But whatever kind of knowledge promised to be 
a. permanent sonrce of advantage worldly or moral, or of innocent 
and respectable amusement, he wished to be freely imparted to 
women as well as men ; nor did I ever hear him express a doubt 
of their capacity for excelling in any branch of literature or 
science. He loved female talent, and always treated its posses- 
sors with distinguished respect and kindness. 

The degree of freedom in thought and expression assumed in 
these Letters, appears to have been, on the whole, not uncon- 
genial to the feelings of the great body of readers ; — they were 
received with general favour, and a second edition was called for 
within the year. 

It has already been observed, that Dr. Aikin had early dis- 
played a fondness for topographical pursuits. This taste had 
led him, during his residence at Warrington, to issue proposals 
for a History of Lancashire : the scheme had dropped at that 
time for want of sufficient support and .co-operation ; but the 
preparations which he had then made for carrying it into execu- 
tion recommended and facilitated to him the performance of a 
somewhat similar task in which he now engaged. This was a 
Description of the country from thirty to forty miles round Man- 
chester. The materials for this book were to be collected by Mr. 
Stockdale, the proprietor, and the arrangement of them, and the 
composition of the work, were alone undertaken by Dr. Aikin ; 
but in fact it was from his exertions and the communications of 
his personal friends in that part of the country, that the most 
valuable portion of the matter proceeded; without which the 
performance would have been defective indeed. This work ap- 
peared in 1795, in one large volume quarto, illustrated virith 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 101 

many maps and plates. The local knowledge of the writer has 
lent great clearness and animation to the geographical descrip- 
tion wliich it contains; while the simple elegance of the style, 
the good sense of the remarks, and the absence of vulgar pj'eju- 
dices and partialities, strongi)' distinguish it, as a whole, among 
'the works on English topography. 

"Employment I must have, or I should die of thinking in a 
month," said Dr. Aikin in a letter to a friend written about this 
time. Such was the force of his honest heart aches, during the 
period of the reign of terror in France and the crusade against 
all free principles of government preached up by Mr. Burke in 
England, and resounded throughout the monarchies of Europe ! 
For himself individually, he was ever prompt to own, with pious 
gratitude, the preponderance of enjoyment in his lot of life ; — 
and though a temper the reverse of sanguine cut him oiF from 
those brilliant anticipations of future good which are in them- 
selves a kind of bliss, the boundedness of his wishes and a mo- 
dest confidence in his resources, blunted the edge of worldly dis- 
appointments, and always armed him against despondency. The 
declaration in question appears by the context to have been 
employed by him as a plea for occupying in literary labours the 
abundant leisure afforded him by a professional progress which 
promised to be steady rather than rapid ; and which, in the opi- 
nion of some of his friends, might be impeded by his avowed at- 
tachment to pursuits perhaps more congenial to his inclinations. 
In fact, his pen was scarcely ever more occupied, or on a greater 
variety of subjects, than during the year 1794. 

The History of Manchester emi>\oyed a considerable portion 
of his time ; and besides completing this work, be composed a 
fourth volume of Evenings at Home and a critical Essay on Arm- 
strong's Art of preserving Health, — wrote a good deal for the 
Memoirs of Science and the Arts, prepared new editions of his 
England Delineated, and of his Letters, — wrote a life of his old, 
respected friend, Dr. Fothergill, for Dr. Kippis's new edition of 
the Biographia Britannica'', and selected a small volume of 
observations in natural history, under the title of the Naturalist's 
Calendar, from the papers of the Rev. iVJr. White of Selborne; 
designed as a sequel to that most delightful miscellany of obser- 



* Only one volume of this editioiv was prink;!, which did not comprise Fother- 
gill, and I am unable to recover the article. 



102 MEMOIR OF 

vations on different parts of nature, the History of Selborm. 
Other objects of his attention are disclosed in the following ex- 
tracts from his letters to his medical friend. After lamentins: 
" the neglect which, in the present state of things, must fall upon 
all objects of general utility ; when the fate of a fortress in Flan- 
ders occupies the public attention more than the welfare of half 
the world, and killing ten thousand French is thought of more 
consequence than saving ten times the number of English," — he 
thus proceeds : 

"Every body seems to agree that the times are peculiarly un- 
favourable to literary undertakings of all kinds, and one may see 
that even those which occupy a good deal of notice for a few 
weeks, are soon completely forgotten. I do not find that the 
medical world are at present occupied in any particular novel- 
ties. The project of curing diseases by artificial airs has caused 
a little discussion, but does not seem to excite much expecta- 
tion. Animal eleclricity has furnished some food for the phy- 
siologists, but I believe will not end in the discovery of any new 
law of nature. Many of the faculty here have been disposed of 
by appointments to military service, and some of the charitable 
institutions have of course had vacancies, but none worth making 
a stir about. Indeed I see them quitted with indifference by 
persons who had made great exertions to get in. For myself, I 
go on quietly in endeavouring to establish a professionl reputa- 
tion among those who compose the little circle of my connec- 
tions, and I am well content to wait the event with patience. 

" I know not whether you have heard of a new attack upon 
the prerogative of the College of Physicians meditated by some 
of the Licentiates. The idea was brought out some time ago at 
a meeting of a society of the body, of which I am a member, and 
an elaborate paper stating the progressive usurpations of the Col- 
lege, and the legal grounds of resisting them, was read, and made 
a considerable impression upon most present. It was deter- 
mined, previous to any legal attack, to state the matter to the 
College in a civil address, claiming our right, on the principles 
of the original charters, to be admitted to all professional honours 
on due examination. 

" It seems very clear that the idea of confining the right of 
fellowship to graduates of our universities was an after thought, 
and is incapable of being supported on any principles of equity 
or propriety. Seeing the thing iu this light, I have not scrupled 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 103 

to join my name to the remonstrants, though without any perso- 
nal views, since I should not choose to go like a school-boy to be 
examined in Greek by my juniors. 

" I have no expectation that the College will concede, — for 
when did any public body voluntarily resign the fruits of their 
own abuses? And if it comes to a law suit, the event will be 
very dubious, since the universities will doubtless support a mo- 
nopoly in which they are most of all interested. But I think it 
useful now and then to cite to the bar of reason and /«ir argu- 
ment causes which have notliing better than power to support 
them. This is the only way in which the weak can ever prevail 
against the strong. 

" I know not with what eye you at present view the scenes 
going on in the world. The impression they make on me is a 
wish to arrive at a perfect apathy respecting the concerns of that 
animal called Man, any further than as they involve the inter- 
ests of my friends; and as to individuals, I have my favourites 
among cats, dogs, and canary birds, for whose sake I have some 
regard to iheir species. And certainly I know among those ani- 
mals neither tyrants nor slaves, — neither blood selling princes 
nor usurping factions. — Really, it is almost too much to reflect 
on ! God bless you, and give you more tranquillity of mind than 
I possess !" 

The contest between the Licentiates and the College of Phy- 
sicians, excited a keen interest in the mind of Dr. Aikin ; which 
he exhibited by active exertions in behalf of the body to which 
he belonged. Into this cause, as into the question of the aboli- 
tion of the Test Act, he entered without any personal interests 
whatever, but simply from that hatred of every thing unfair and 
inequitable which was his leading principle and almost his ruling 
passion. In conformity with his opinion of the utility of citing 
power to the tribunal of reason, he afterwards took occasion, in 
the second volume of his Letters to a Son, thus to record the pro- 
ceedings of the College, as an exemplification of the encroaching 
and usurping spirit of corporate bodies. 

" In the reign of Henry VIII. a College of Physicians was con- 
stituted in London by charter, for the express purpose of ex 
amining and admitting applicants duly qualified for the practice 
of physic in the metropolis, and excluding and interdicting quacks 
and empirics. Some of the first members of this college were 
foreign graduates ; and no condition of having received their 



104 MEMOIR OF 

education or degress at any particular place was thought of with 
respect to tliem or their successors ; nor was any distinction of 
practitioners into different classes established, but all profes- 
sional honours were left open to every physician of sufficient 
learning and good morals. In process of time, however, an in- 
novation was introduced of distinguishing the physicians of Lon- 
don into two classes, fellows of the college and licentiates; the 
former possessing all the collegiate powers and emoluments, the 
latter having simply the right of practising. And the same mo- 
nopolising spirit produced the further limitation, that no one 
should be allowed to claim admission to the fellowship of the 
college, who was not a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge. Such 
is the state of things at the present day ; and this absurd and 
arrogant exclusion of men whose learning and professional skill 
may be inferior to those of none of their competitors, is pertina- 
ciously maintained by a body, originally instituted for the sole 
purpose of the public good, but perverted in its object by the 
mean jealousy and selfishness ever attending the corporation 
spirit."* 

The decision of the Court of King's Bench in favour of the 
by-laws of the college, by which the claims of the licentiates 
were finally quashed, always appeared to my father a denial of 
substantial justice ; and he never spoke of the affair without mani- 
fest tokens of that bitterness of soul with which acts of wrong- 
fulness and oppression are contemplated by the upright and noble 
minded. 

After the presentation of the petition of the licentiates to the 
college for the restoration of their rights, to which the name of 
Dr. Aikin appeared as one of the subscribers, the officers of that 
learned corporation were pleased to refuse him the privilege, 
which he had previously enjoyed, of borrowing books from their 
library to assist him in the composition of his Biographical Me- 
moirs of Medicine, — one of the numerous discouragements which 
by their united operation proved fatal to the progress of the 
work ! 

The following letter to Dr. Haygarth is dated in August, 1794 : 

"As I always feel a pleasure in even a distant communication 
with one whom I love, I do not delay to answer your last call 



• Letter on Party. 



DR, JOHN AlKIN. 105 

for a letter ; yet in fact I have very few materials of informa- 
tion to make out one. I am plodding at home among books and 
papers, and the world glides by me, not unmarked indeed, but 
with very little participation of mine in its motions. Clubs and 
meetings are suspended during the summer, so that I know little 
of what is the present object of interest to professional and lite- 
rary men, — except the universal one, politics. 

" The faculty here, as far as I can observe, enter little into 
speculations that are at all abstracted from immediate utility, 
and particularly, utility to themselves ; and yet surely they are 
not at all less curious or public spirited than other people. But 
all public feelings are expended upon the great scenes rtow act- 
ing upon the theatre of the world, and private concerns are pur- 
sued with a view to emolument solely, 

" The town is very full of reports concerning the destruction 
of Robespierre and his faction. The main point, I suppose, is 
true, though probably many of the current circumstances are 
mere fabrication. Whether this will or will not have much effect 
on the present state of tilings, I am unable even to guess. I should 
rather suppose that the causes of the present wonderful motus 
animorum throughout Europe lie deeper than to be quieted by4he 
death of a few individuals. I am no believer in prophecies, and 
do not hunt for future events in the Revelations; but it does ap- 
pear to me from a cool induction of numerous particulars, that 
the critical period is arrived for several of the things which 
have long subsisted in the world. Whether they will survive 
the crisis, and whether the state of mankind will be made better* 
or worse in the issue, I am unable to divine. I suppose you 
continue your confidence in the soundness of the old ship Bri- 
tannia, and the skill of her pilot. To say the truth, I scarcely 
know a stouter ship in Europe, and I can as yet sleep secure in 
her. Yet she is certainly much worm-eaten and rather ov8rk)ad- 
ed. I wish she was at least well in port." 

All ihQ concerns, medical, literary and domestic, of this busy 
year had prospered ; the talents of Dr. Aikin began to be justly 
appreciated, not only by his friends and by a rather extensive 
circle of acquaintance, but by the public; and it was in the fol- 
lowing strain of content and cheerfulness that he addressed his 
beloved friend near the commenceuient of the year 1795 : 

" I should not have suffered so much of the new year to elapse 
without expressing to my very dear friend every kind wish for 
O 



106 MEMOIR OF 

lilm and his duriisg the course of it, had I not been uncommonly 
busy with ray pen in various ways for some time past. But hav- 
ing now cleared my ground, I sit down with pleasure to con- 
verse a little on private and public topics with one to whom I 
have so long been accustomed to communicate every sentiment 
of my heart. 

" The year has opened to me with favourable auspices, and I 

have never felt more easy in my concerns than at present • 

As every thing in this world is relative, I think myself almost 
rich enough, and I feel an independence which perhaps an ap- 
parently more prosperous condition would not have afforded. 
My children are all promising ; the two eldest in useful sta- 
tions, and nearly able to take care of themselves. In short, / 
have no need to look on the other side of the Atlantic for a con- 
tent which I have so much reason to acknowledge here. Oh, if, 
in the present state of things, one circumstanced as I am should 
look more towards the goods he has not than those he has, what 
moral benefit can be expected from the home lessons which every 
day is bringing forth ! 

" It is almost impossible at this crisis to write to a friend with- 
out saying something about public matters. Indeed, they may 
very soon become the most important of private concerns to us 
also. All other subjects are merged in them ; and science and 
literature are flat and subordinate topics in all conversations. I 
think I can view the conduct of the different parties with toler- 
able moderation, and perhaps the great impending events must 
have happened whoever had possession of the helm. Great 
events may seem to have trifling causes, but in fact, the cause 
must be adequate to the effect ; and who does not see that the 
progress of new opinions and manners could not but at length 
issue in a terrible conflict with the old ? Where will it stop ? Is 
there any moral or natural reason to suppose that this island can. 
remain stationary in the midst of a changing world, connected, 
too, as she is with that world, and dependent upon it for the con- 
tinuance of a system of commerce now apparently essential to 
her being ? I would not indulge gloomy reflections, — indeed I 
feel somewhat unaccountably callous (like my neighbours) to ap- 
proaching evils ; but can we find any solid ground of hope and 
comfort? If you have any to suggest, pray communicate it to 
me. 1 assure you I am well disposed to think as favourably of 
futurity as I possibly can. Every body here gives up Holland, 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 10/ 

and she will not only, in the hands of the French, cease to be an 
ally, but will be converted into a bitter foe. And where are our 
friends ? Surely it is an awful crisis ! such an one as neither we 
nor our fathers ever knew. 

" In the mean time, may you and yours enjoy all those domes- 
tic blessings which are accumulated around you ; and may we, 
in reciprocal friendship and internal tranquillity, find all possi- 
ble support under the vicissitudes of mortal things !" 

In the month of May he again communicates his sentiments to 
his friend, thus : 

"I should not have suffered your last very kind letter to re° 
main unanswered, had I not lately had so much employment for 
my pen, especially in Stockdale' s Account of Manchester, (now 
nearly finished, and in which you, my friend, are not entirely unjj 
recorded,) that extra writing became an irksome task. 

" You suppose that the sentiments on public affairs contained 
in your former letter did not please me. I had certainly no right 
to be displeased with them, although they might not perfectly co- 
incide with my own ; and as to the advice conveyed in them, it 
was impossible for me to take it otherwise than as it was meant. 
It is true, I continue to think that the possible hazards attending 
the American funds are compensated by their better interest, 
and by the fundamental stability which I believe them to pos- 
sess ; nor can I think so ill of the principles of their government 
and their national character, as that, in the event of a war, they 
would take a step to violate their faith to individuals which the 
worst of the old governments in Europe have never done. Some 
difficulty in getting the interest during that period is all I should 
apprehend. 

" With regard to the present aspect of affairs at home, I be- 
lieve we do not much differ in our opinions as to matter of fact, 
liowever we may as to causes. I fully agree with you in expect- 
ing no mischief from sedition and jacobinism in this country. The 
character of the nation has fully shown itself. None can be more 
loyal, more attached to ancient institutions, more sensible that 
it has a great deal to lose. My apprehensions about Ireland are 
less than yours. I rely on a system of corruption which has per- 
vaded all ranks and orders in that country, for keeping all quiet. 
They may bluster and talk large, and even break out in the re- 
moter parts into acts of atrocity, but their chains are indisso- 
luble. 



108 MEMOIR OF 

" For all this, the prospect of t!niia;s does not quite please me. 
Isee irresistible poVver, uniier the direction, as I thiirli, ^f little 
wistlom or honesty, involving us in difficulties and loading us 
with burthens which in the end must be sensibly felt, and that not 
by politicians and theorists alone. In short, I seriously fear that 
it will become a country in which a man of moderate resources, 
and with a fcJ^mily to provide for, cannot live, and then what will 
signify debating abt)ut our constitution ? When peace returns, 
commerce will of course revive, and possibly to a very unexpect- 
ed degree, as after the American war. But if taxes and dear- 
ness of living more than keep pace with it, what can we do, es- 
pecially those of us who are out of trade, but sink, sink? These 
are forbodings which, without consulting Brothers or Halhed* 
enter my mind, and, if I had not other things to think of, would 
make me pass many weary hours. And can you, my friend, sug- 
gest any considerations which will make these dangers appear 
chimerical.^ 

" It gives me pleasure that a good report of my professional 
progress has reached you, as that may be a prelude to its verifi- 
cation. The truth is, I have reason to hope that my medical cha- 
racter does not lose on trial, yet I have not much hitherto to 
boast of. The business o^ pushing into practice here is an affair 
so contrary to my nature and habits, that I am convinced I shall 
ever move in a small circle. The necessary expense of making a 
figure is a serious matter. A physician well introduced and con- 
nected told me the other day, that out of a practice of 500/. he 
was obliged to pay 200/. for his carriage, which was indispensa- 
bly necessary to him. I shall never envy him his carriage the 
worst day in the year. My booksellers will never expect me to 
visit them in my chariot. 

" I have lately had the honour of being made a fellow of the 
Linneean Society, and also of the Medical Society in Bolt-Court 
(Letsom's) ; but as to this last, 1 am in some doubt if I shall as- 
sume my blushing honours.'' 

Besides the completion of the History of Manchester and the 
surrounding country, ■sn\\\c\\ appeared in June, 1795, the literary 
labours of Ur. Aikin during this year consisted of the fifth and 
sixth volumes oi Evenings at Home, and an Essay on the Poems 
of Green, author of the Spleen, (annexed). No one, I believe, of 
ail his critical pieces was composed with greater pleasure in his 
subject than this. The principal work of this truly original wri- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 109 

ter, little adapted to the mere lover of elegant verse, had for him 
a charm which grew upon the intimacy of repeated perusals. 
While the profusion of uncommon thoughts and witty allusions 
with which it is studded amused his fancy, the pervading spirit 
of the whole had much in it to attract his sympathetic approba- 
tion. It is that of a philosophy somewhat on the Horatian 
model, in which habitual serenity of mind is sought by a renun- 
ciation of the common objects of ambition, by temperate enjoy- 
ments and modest wishes, by the indulgence of a v6in of fr^e 
speculation, and by a general indifference and neutrality in the 
disputes which chiefly agitate the world; — with an honourable 
exception however for 

" ■ the righteous cause 
Of a free press and equal laws." 

None of the beauties of the author appear to have escaped the eye 
of the critic ; and the easy but clear and lively manner in which 
they are unfolded to the reader peculiarly recommends the pe- 
rusal of the entire piece. 

The repute which the pen of Dr. Aikin had gained with the 
public, and the great extension of his connections among men 
of letters since his residence in London, now caused literary pro- 
posals to flow in upon him on all sides, and the year 1796 was 
the date of the commencement of more than one of his principal 
undertakings. The earliest of these was the editorship of the 
Monthly Magazine, his connection with which work peculiar 
circumstances render it necessary to state fully as well as accu- 
rately. 

Almost from the commencement of that political division in 
this country to which the French revolution had given rise. Dr. 
Aikin had been of opinion that the establishment of a periodical 
literary miscellany characterised by a spirit of free inquiry 
and a general liberality of sentiment, was an object highly de- 
siral)le, on account of the many important services which such a 
work might be made to render to the best interests of society. 

In his letters to Mrs. Barbauld during the latter years of his 
residence at Yarmouth, this topic was frequently recurred to. 
His remoteness from London necessarily precluded at that time 
his proposing himself for the conductor ol such a design ; but he 
repeatedly mentioned that he was ready to become a principal 
contributor to it ; and that he had already by him several pieces, 



no MEMOIR OF 

both of verse and prose, which he would willingly dispose of ir* 
this manner. No one however then appeared with spirit to set 
it on foot, though many had expressed similar wishes and strong 
persuasion that a work of this nature would succeed. 

After his removal to London, so many fresh objects of inter- 
est opened upon him, that I imagine he ceased to occupy him- 
self with the idea which had been so long a favourite ; but when 
the plan of the Monthly Magazine was disclosed to him by its 
projector, all his ardour on the subject revived ; he closed im- 
mediately with the proposal which was made him, and exerted 
his utmost zeal and diligence in maturing the plan and provid- 
ing for its due execution. 

The part which he took was that of literary editor. All the 
original correspondence came under his inspection ; articles were 
inserted or rejected according to his judgment, and the proof 
sheets underwent his revision. That portion of the work which 
consisted of compilation from newspapers, as the provincial oc- 
currences and other articles of intelligence, was under the im- 
mediate direction of the proprietor; the account of public aiFairs 
also was printed without any participation of Dr. Aikin's. To 
pi'ovide materials for the Magazine was not strictly a part of his 
compact; — but the honourable anxiety which he always felt to 
perform every task committed to him in the best manner possi- 
ble, and to promote the pleasure and instruction of the public to 
the utmost of his ability, prompted him, in this, as in many other 
instances, to go far beyond the letter of his engagement; and be- 
sides enriching it to a great extent with his own pieces, he was 
diligent in his applications to the literary characters with whom 
he was connected by the ties of friendship ; and by means prin- 
cipally of their contributions the new Magazine assumed a rank 
in letters to which only one of its predecessors had ever ven- 
tured to aspire. 

On the whole, this editorship, though certainly not unattended 
with causes of chagrin, was the source of considerable enjoy- 
ment to him. It brought him into habits of occasional inter- 
course with a great variety of characters, who often exhibited 
themselves in an instructive or amusing point of view; — it sup- 
plied him with a fund of intelligence on all the current topics of 
the time, which enabled him to turn his own speculations to sub- 
jects of general utility and interest ; and, what he was far from 
valuing the least, it aftbrded him frequent opportunities of be- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 1 1 1 

coming the friend and counsellor of youthful genius, of bringing 
modest talent into notice, and of pointing out resources to merit 
in distress. 

Towards the conclusion of the year, Dr. Aikin, having secur- 
ed as his coadjutor his beloved friend Dr. Enfield, engaged in 
the composition of his great work, the General Biography ; which 
emphiyed the larger portion of his time during a period of nine- 
teen years, and extended to ten volumes quarto. 

The design was not originally his own ; but none could have 
coincided more happily with his talents, his acquirements, or the 
habits of his mind. 

An author will seldom find cause to regret the time and la- 
bour which he may have bestowed upon an abortive or unsuccess- 
ful work, provided he has applied to it, during its progress, the 
full force of his mind. Such essays serve to root deeply in the 
mind ideas which afterwards spring up with renewed vigour and 
beauty, and in a more propitious season mature their fruits. Thus 
it proved in the instance before us. — The eiforts which my father 
had bestov/ed upon the composition of his Biographical Memoirs 
of Mcdimie, had obliged him to meditate long and deeply on the 
subject of biographical writing in general ; — to measure the posi- 
tive and relative merits of the characters who came before him 
by a scale in his own mind ; and to learn the art of conveying, 
by a few spirited strokes, a clear and lively image of the distinc- 
tive features of every individual. What he had thus practised 
with respect to the professors of a single art in one country alone, 
he nov/ undertook to exercise on the eminent of many classes 
in all ages and countries. 

In the preface to the work, which was composed with uncom- 
mon care and attention, he has given a distinct summary of his 
own views of the subject; which he will be found unswervingly 
to have followed ; in fact, the principles upon which it is found- 
ed ai'e so analogous to his settled habits of judging and feeling, 
that to those who knew him intimately, this piece will appear not 
so much a prospectus of a book as an ingenuous exposition of his 
own standard of human greatness ; and as such I shall extract 
some passages from it*. After observing that selection, compass 



* Rudiments of the same ideas appear in a dialogue contained in Evenings ai 
ffome, entitled " Great. Jllen." Brindley is made an example in both pieces. 



nil MEMOIR OF 

and arrangement, are the three points chiefly to be considered 
jn a biographical dictionary, and briefly stating, under the last 
head, the advantages of an alphabetical order, he thus proceeds: 

" Selection is the most important point, and at the same time 

the most difficult to adjust, in a design of this nature In the 

long lapse of ages, from the first records of history, the names of 
those who have left behind them some memorials of their exis- 
tence have become so numerous, that to give an account, ho^yever 
slight, of every person wlio has obtained temporary distinction 
in every walk of life, would foil the industry of any writer, as 
well as the patience of any reader. Fame, or celebrity, is the 
grand principle upon which the choice of subjects for a general 
biography must be founded ; for this, on the whole, will be 
found to coincide with the two chief reasons that make us desi- 
rous of information concerning an individual, — curiosity, and 
the desire of enlarging our knowledge of mankind. But under 
the general notion of celebrity many subordinate considerations 
arise 

" The great affairs of the world are frequently conducted by 
persons who have no other title to distinction than merely as 
they are associated with these affairs. With abilities not at all 
superior to those of a clerk in an office, or a subaltern in a regi- 
ment, the civil and military concerns of great nations are often 
managed according to a regular routine, by men whom the 
chance of birth alone has elevated to high stations. Such cha- 
racters appear in history with a consequence not really belong- 
ing to them ; and it seems the duty of a biographer in these cases 
to detach the man from his station, and either entirely to omit, 
or reduce to a very slight notice, the memorial of one whose per- 
sonal qualities had no real influence over the events of his age, 
and afford nothing to admire or imitate 

" That interesting class which lays claim to the remembrance 
of posterity on account of distinction in art, science, or litera- 
ture, depending solely on personal qualifications and commonly 
acting individually, might seem to admit of an easier estimate 
of relative merit than the preceding. But the number of claim- 
ants is so great, that in the impossibility of commemorating all, 
many names must be rejected which on the first glance may 
seem as worthy of insertion as their preferred rivals. The diffi- 
cult work of selection ought in these cases to be regulated by some 
fixed principles; and the circumstances which appear most 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 113 

worthy of guiding the decision, are those* of invention and im- 
provement. 

"None appear to have a more decisive claim to biographical 
notice than inventors ; including in the class all who, by the 
exercise of their faculties in an original path, have durably 
added to the stock of valuable products of human skill and in- 
genuity. Perhaps, in the history of the human mind there is 
nothing more curious than to trace the operations of an inventive 
talent working its way, often without any foreign aid, and de- 
riving from its own resources the means of overcoming the suc- 
cessive ditficulties which thwart its progress. It is in such a 
process that the distinguishing powers bestowed upon man are 
most surprisingly exerted, and that the superiority of one indi- 
vidual over the comnion mass is most luminously displayed. 
How much higher, as an intellectual being, does a Brindley 
rank, directing the complex machinery of a canal, which he him- 
self has invented, than an Alexander at the head of his army I 
A Newton, who employed the most exquisite powers of inven- 
tion on the sublimest objects, has attained a point in the scale 
of mental pre-eminence, which perhaps no known mortal ever 
surpassed. 

" Between invention and improvement no precise line can be 
drawn. In reality, almost all the great discoveries in art or science 
have arrived at perfection through the gradual advances given to 
them by successive improvers, who have exercised a greater or 
less degree of invention on the subject. When the addition made 
has been something considerable, the improver seems to have a 

just title to have his name perpetuated The attainment 

of uncommon excellence in any particular walk, though not at- 
tended with what can strictly be called improvement, may be 
regarded as a just cause for commemoration; since it implies a 
vigorous exertion of the faculties, and atfords animating exam- 
ples of the power of effecting extraordinary things. Many pain- 
ters, sculptors, musicians, and other artists of high reputation, 
come under this head 

" The class known by the general term of ivriteishas present- 
ed to us difficulties of selection more embarrassing than any of 
those hitherto mentioned. It comprehends many whose claims 
on the biographer are surpassed by none ; for where is the cele- 
brity which takes place of a Homer and Virgil, a Livy and Thu- 
cydides, a Swift and Voltaire ? But from such great names 
P 



114 MEMOIR OF 

tliere are all the shades of literary distinction down to the au- 
thor of a pamphlet ; and where must the line be drawn ? 

" Two other circumstances by which selection may be afifect- 
ed are, country and age. We 'nave seen no general biographical 
work which is free from a decided stamp of nationality ^ that is, 
which does not include a greater number of names of natives of 
the country in which they were composed, than the fair propor- 
tion of relative fame and excellence can justify. Perhaps this 
fault is in some measure excusable, on account of the superior 
interest taken by all nations in excellence of their own growth ; 
and if readers are gratified by such deference to their feelings, 
writers will not fail to comply with their wishes. We do not 
pretend to have made no sacrifices of this sort; but being sensi- 
ble that disproportion is a real blemish in a work, and that in 
this instance it partakes of the nature of injustice, we hope we 
shall not be found to have exceeded the bounds of moderation in 
this particular. We have most sedulously endeavoured to avoid 
the more serious fault, of awarding to our countrymen individu- 
ally, more than their due share of merit in comparison with 
foreign competitors. In this point we would be truly citizens 
of the world. y' _ . r 

" The circumstances ot age or period in which the claimanis 
have lived, has an operation similar to that of country. We are 
much more impressed with the relative consequences of persons 
who have trod the stage of life within our own memory, than 
those whose scene of action has long been closed, though equally 
eminent in their day. Of course, curiosity is more active re- 
specting the former; and to this natural predilection it may be 
proper for the biographer to pay some deference, provided he 
does not too much infringe the principle of equitable proportion, 
which ought essentially to regulate a work, professing tO com- 
prehend every age of the world as well as every country.'^ 

With respect to the compass of the work, he admits that bio- 
graphy will bear to be written much at large, and in judicious 
hands is often the more entertaining and instructive the more it 
is minute; and that in a plan so extensive as this, characteristic 
sketches can alone be given ; but he expresses a hope that they 
will be found to have dismissed few characters of real eminence 
" without fully answering the leading biographical questions. 
What was he ? What did he ? His moral and intellectual (quali- 
ties, the principal events of his life, his relative merit in the 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. H.5 

department he occupied, and especially the manner in which he 
was first formed to his art or profession, with the gradations by 
which he rose. to excellence, have engaged our attentive inqui- 
ries, and we have attempted to develop them with all the accu- 
racy that conciseness would allow.'' \ ' ... 

" If,'' he adds, " we have faithfully observed the rules of com- 
position above suggested, it is evident we cannot have been mere 
copyists or translators ; since we may venture to assert, that nu 
model exists of a work of this species, executed with any degree 
of uniformity, upon such principles. For our materials, it is true, 
we must in general have been indebted to the researches of for- 
mer historians and biographers But, in melting down the 

substance of different narrations into one, in proportioning the 
several parts, in marking out the characteristic features of the 
portrait, and in deducing suitable lessons and examples of human 
life, we have freely exercised our own judgments, and have as- 
pired, at least, to the rank of original writers.'' 

In the first division of t^e articles of the General Biography, 
the divines, metaphysicians, philosophers, natural and moral, and 
mathematicians were assigned to Dr. Enfield, and all the other 
classes were undertaken by Dr. Aikin ; but the unfortunate event 
of Dr. Enfield's death before the completion of the first volume, 
compelled my father for a time to extend his labours. The whole 
of the letter C, excepting the mathematical articles, and a few of 
the authorities for which existed only in German and the other 
languages of the North of Europe, was written by him ; but after- 
wards the late Dr. Thomas Morgan succeeded to nearly the whole 
of Dr. Enfield's department. 

The copious extracts just given from a prefiace, all the promises 
of which were, on my father's part at least, so punctually fulfilled, 
may suflice as a general account of the nature of a work on which 
^e opinions both of critics and readers have long since been pro- 
nounced ; but a few particulars respecting the modes of study 
adopted by him during the course of his twenty years' task, and 
the effects upon his own mind of this application of his powers, 
jnay be thought no uninteiesting or uninstructive part of his per- 
sonal history. 

It had been my father's previous practice to write over twice, 
and sometimes oftener, whatever he destined for the press ; and 
with regard to his \<'orks in general, that respect for the public. 



116 MEMOIR OF 

which he always considered as one of the most indispensable of 
literary duties, led him to observe this custom to the end ; but, 
with respect to his biographical articles, he soon discovered this 
laborious process to be unnecessary, and in fact scarcely practi- 
cable. Such, however, was his dread of suftering any marks ot 
haste, either in style or matter, to escape him, that through the 
whole, course of so long a woi'k he persevered in the constant ob- 
servance of another of his literary habits, which indicated the 
modest no less than the diligent composer. This was, never to 
commit a single page to the printer without causing it to be pre- 
viously read aloud by one of his family in his own presence, and 
in tliat of any other members of the domestic circle who could 
be conveniently assembled. During these readings he listened 
with close attention, often mentioned the alterations which then 
suggested themselves to his mind, or the new ideas which struck 
him ; and not only permitted, but invited and encoui-aged, the 
freest strictures even from the youngest and most unskilful of 
those whom he was pleased to call his household critics ^ good 
humoured ly citing the story of Moliere's submitting all his pieces 
to the judgment of his old woman, as a proof that the honest im- 
pressions of any hearer or reader, were worth some attention. 
His principal object, however, in following this method was, to 
preserve his style from the fault which most of all offended him 
in every kind of writing, — obscurity ; a fault which many in- 
stances prove that men of the most sagacious minds are frequent- 
ly unable to detect in their own compositions except by experi- 
ment of their effect upon others. The statement of Gibbon, that 
he had never communicated to a single person any part of the 
manuscript of his history, was, I remember, particularly noted 
by my father on reading it, as a fact which went far in account- 
ing for the perseverance of so able a writer in that enigmatical 
mode of expression which became the characteristic blemish of 
his manner. 

How far the clearness of his own style, which is so perfect that 
I believe no one over found it necessary to read a sentence of 
his a second time to find the meaning, is to be attributed to the 
occasional suggestions of others, 1 find it difficult to decide ; as 
the distinctness of his ideas, and his entire freedom from affecta- 
tion, were very likely of themselves to have ensured to him this 
advantage ; but I can speak with all the certainty of personal ex- 
perience to the pleasures and benefits derived to his family from 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 117 

his social and communicative habits of study. From witnessiiis; 
so closely the progress of his various works, they insensibly ac- 
quired a lively interest in the subjects of them ; these again be- 
came favourite topics of domestic discussion, and often led on to 
references to books and facts which from these associations were 
impressedindeliblyon the memory. Nor could the reasoningpowerS 
fail of being strengthened and matured by these inquiries, carried 
onundertheinduigentguidanceof one who did not desire even from 
his own children a blind and prejudiced adherence to his opinions; 
but, on t!ie contrary, never ceased to impress upon them as the 
most important of all maxims, that their reason was given them 
for the discovery of truth, and that there were no subjects on 
which it was not allowable, and even laudable, to exercise it in- 
dependently, within the limits of modesty and candour. For 
myself, — if I may be pardoned the egotism, — I must ever regard 
it as the most important of many intellectual privileges for which 
I am grateful, to have grown up to maturity under the eye of my 
father during the time that he was engaged upon so many " fair 
designs," and especially on this ; by virtue of which the illus- 
trious of all ages were made to pass as it were before us in a long 
and leisurely procession, while we questioned each of his title to 
a pedestal in the Temple of Immortality. This was indeed phi- 
losophy teaching by example ; and to the lessons then received, 
to the principles thus imbibed, I am bound, not in duty and af- 
fection alone, but in the strictest justice, to ascribe whatever fa- 
vour any biographical attempts of my own may since have found 
with an indulgent public. But for my father, they never would 
have had an existence, — to him is to be attributed whatever merit 
they possess ; all that I can justly claim, is that of having trea- 
sured up his precepts, and followed, to the best of my abilities, 
his example. 

— seqiiitnrque patrem non passions xquU. 

My father was accustomed to observe, that the rapidity with 
which the nature of his work obliged him to pass from one cha- 
racter to another, had at least this advantage, that it did not allow 
liiin to contract that partiality towards the subject of his pen 
which was the prevailing vice of detailed biographies ; and this 
remark leads me to the consideration of the effects which the 
habit of contemplating and delineating this boundless variety of 
human characters produced upon his sentiments and his mode of 



118 MEMOIR OF 

expressing them. The honest indignation which he felt at the 
exa»:P"erate(l style of those partial relations which he was often 
obliged to take as the groundwork of his narratives, led him to 
renounce for himself, almost totally, the use of epithets, which he 
often observed to be among the most deluding and dangerous 
artifices of a disingenuous biographer. This self-denial may 
probably impart at first sight somewhat of an air of coldness and 
severity to his portraits ; but when once the eye of the spectator 
has learned to content itself with the sober colouring of nature, 
I believe he will readily acknowledge that full justice has been 
done to the features and expression even of his most distinguish- 
ed favourites. The moral discrimination of the writer was so 
perfected by habit and practice, which never had the effect of 
blunting his moral sensibility, — that he seized almost intuitively 
on the marking traits -of a character, and exhibited them by a 
brief but masterly selection of the actions or circumstances in 
which they were most clear and prominent: having so done, he 
commonly left them to make their own impression on the reader, 
convinced that the cause of biographical, as well as of many other 
kinds of truth, is better served by a simple statement of facts, 
than by reflections and inductions in which, unless they be- ex- 
ceedingly trite and obvious, readers cannot be expected unani- 
mously to concur. 

The rare impartiality which presided over all his statements, 
both of facts and motives, has, I think, been universally acknow- 
ledged ; no man, I am convinced, ever laboured more earnestly 
and steadily to subdue the prejudices to which all are liable; and 
I have sometimes even thought I perceived, that where he was 
conscious of a political bias, he has compelled himself to <\omore 
than justice to certain characters of the opposite party. Favour- 
ite characters, however, he unquestionably had, arid favourite 
classes of characters ; but his predilections were such as he could 
have had no hesitation in avowing, — such as he must have wanted 
his best virtues to have been without. 

The lives of celebrated writers he treated with great pleasure 
when their personal qualities were strongly marked, and their 
fortunes sufficiently known to afford fair scope for narrative ; but 
that nice observance of proportion which forbade him to enter 
into any considerable detail of literary criticism, was somewhat 
unfavourable to the interest of this class of articles. His predi- 
lection for inventors in every way sufficiently appears by his pre 



DR, JOHN AIKIN. 119 

ace. Patriots of .every land commanded a. large share of his 
homage; but with respect to those of antiquity, he preferred, on 
the whole, the Greeks to the Komans ; — when a Greek ivas vir- 
tuous, he said, his virtue appeared to be both of a purer and a 
milder quality than that of a Roman. - 

One class of French characters he greatly admired and took 
particular pains with ; being of opinion that their fame, m this 
country at least, was by no means equal to their merit ; and these 
were, magistrates, — such men as L'Hospital, La Moignon and 
Malesherbes, — courageous champions of the oppressed and mis- 
erable people, when despotic power was triumphantly careering 
over law and right; — beautiful examples of purity of life and 
simplicity of manners, when licentiousness, frivolity, and a base 
servility, had become characteristic of the court and nation. 
,The small band of genuine lovers of their kind whose business 
in the world was doing good, "fair virtue's silent train," receiv- 
ed from him the most assiduous and affectionate celebration : — 
holding as he did that all moral virtue was to be resolved into 
the preference of the social principle to the selfish, disinterested- 
ness appeared to him the first of human qualities ; and the emi- 
nent examples of it in every line, those which most deserved and 
required to be continually held up for the imitation of mankind. 

To the list of Dr. Aikin's literary occupations during the year 
1796, must be added two more of his critical essays on poems; 
those on Somervill's Chace, and on Pope's Essay on Man, both 
comprised in the present volume. The first of these poems 
was certainly not recommended to his attention by any predi- 
lection for the amusement of which it treats ; on the contrary, it 
had happened to him, very early in life, to witness two or three 
instances of the tyrannical behaviour sometimes exercised by 
gentlemen upon their tenants and inferiors in hunting, which 
had impressed him with deep and permanent disgust. But the 
lively descriptions of the manners and instincts of various ani- 
mals, asid of some features of rural scenery, with which it abounds, 
appeared to him ^o render this piece worthy tlie perusal of the 
lovers of verse in general ; and his remarks on those portions of 
The Chace will be read with pleasure. 

In his choice of the Essay on il-ianas a subject of critical and 
philosophical remark, he was prompted, as I believe, not merely 
by its merit and popularity ; he felt besides a strong impulse to 
rescue the autiior, with respect to tliis work at least, from the 



V2Q MEMOIR OF 

artful misrepresejiitations of liis earliest editor and commentator, 
bishop Warburton; whose dishonest glosses upon the poet were 
often, in conversation, the theme of his indignant remark. In 
pursuance of this object, however, he has not judged it necessary 
to enter into any particular refutation of the errors, or false- 
hoods, of Warburton; but taking care to disencumber his own 
edition completely of his notes and commentary, he proceeds, 
after a general statement of their delusory nature, to supply the 
place by a clear and accurate analysis of his own ; this is inter- 
spersed, in his usual manner, with warm and copious expositions 
of the poetical beauties of the piece, and with more general no- 
tices of its poetical defects. 

Neither the line of his studies nor the general habits of his 
mind, led him to institute any inquiry into the original sources 
of the systerti which Bolingbroke is known to have furnished to 
Pope ; he has not even mentioned the names of Plato or of Shafts- 
bury on the occasion ; nor has he thought it necessary, in examin- 
ing the poem, to show himself either the apologist or the assail- 
ant of the system, as a whole ; but in his remarks on some par- 
ticulars, the judicious reader will recognise the acute and pow- 
erful thinker. Thus, on the first epistle he observes, that " in lay- 
ing it down as a maxim that * We can only reason from what we 
know,' he seems to invalidate some of his own conjectural argu- 
ments concerning that order of the universe which is to account 
for apparent partial defects " On the conclusion of the second 
epistle, he remarks, that it is not easy to say what moral effect 
the author meant to produce: " If man's folly is equally con- 
spicuous in all he does; if his weaknesses are made the instru- 
ments of his happiness ; if ' in folly's cup still laughs the bubble 
joy,' and ' not a vanity was given in vain,' it would seem very 
fruitless to attempt by artificial wisdom to correct the designed 
and inherent defects of our nature." 

While he was thus strenuously labouring to improve his time 
and talents to the utmost, while his worldly connections were 
daily increasing in number and consequence, and while his chil- 
dren were growing up around him to that important period when 
the hand of a parent was required to launch them upon the 
world ; — symptoms unexpectedly appeared which threatened him 
\yith an early separation from all earthly concerns. As early as 
the middle of the year 1796, he underwent a rather severe fit of 
ilness, which he judged to proceed from some affection of the 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 121 

liver, and from which he rightly supposed himself to be tempora- 
rily, not permanently, relieved. The usual eftects of similar 
maladies on the spirits, were in his case distressingly manifest, 
though combated by those principles which constantly presided 
over his firm and well regulated mind. On recovering from this 
first attack, he thus expressed his feelings in a letter to Dr. Haj- 
j^arth : 

" I now think myself abnost as well as usual, bating a 

little of my walking powers, and some of the vigour of maturity. 
At the same time, this affair has strongly put me in mind of 
mortality, and I have in expectation lopped oif a good many 
years from my date of life. But my only inference is, that I 
must live while I can, — do all in my power for my family and 
friends,— enjoy myself moderately, and leave the rest to fate. 
And believe me, my dear friend, when I had in my own imagina- 
tion a near prospect of breaking up, my spirits were perfectly 
tranquil and serene, and I felt that the * leave to lay my being 
down' would not have been unwelcome. In fact, what is there 
at fifty (I shall be that next January) worth living on for, to a 
person of delicate health, with no new expectations, and involved 
in increasing cares ? Life is not painful to me, but it is indiffer- 
ent, and /or my own sake 1 had rather be out of the way of the 
coming bustle, and leave the young folks to settle matters, with- 
out partaking in it. Yet I think it my duty to keep up as long as 
I can, because I believe myself not an entirely useless personage 
in this world." 

During the whole of the year 1797, his health continued visi- 
bly to decline ; and two or three little excursions into the coun- 
try during the summer failed to produce any beneficial effect. 
Yet in the midst of languor and suffering, and with that clear 
perception of all the possibilities of common mischief which ex 
ercises the fortitude of a medical man in sickness, he never al- 
lowed himself to sink into the selfish and cheerless indolence of 
an acknowledged invalid ; and his literary occupations were 
never abandoned, and remitted only in the exact degree that his 
bodily weakness rendered indispensable. The composition of 
the first volume of the General Biography, and the editorship of 
the Monthly Magazine, for which he also wrote a good deal, 
were the principal employments of the year. Towards the con- 
clusion of it, his feelings were severely tried by the death of his 
dear friend Dr. Enfield, now still more closely connected with 

Q 



122 MEMOIR OF 

him bj a literary partnership which had been carried on with un- 
interrupted harmony and mutual satisfaction. He immediately 
drew up a short biographical notice of this most amiable man 
and estimable writer for the Monthly Magazine, and some time 
after edited a collection of his sermons published for the benefit 
of the family, to which he prefixed a more copious memoir, some- 
what in the mode of the French Eloges, but characterised by a 
simplicity and a genuine warmth of feeling, not often to be found 
in those boasted performances.* Such was the state of debility 
to which sickness had reduced bim at the time of writing it, that 
nothing less potent than the kind and friendly motive which ani- 
mated him to make the effort, could have carried him through 
the affecting task. 

At length it became necessary for him to try in earnest the 
effects of country air, horse exercise, and a complete vacation 
from the fatigues of a profession ; and early in the spring of 1798 
he removed to lodgings in the town of Dorking in Surry, where 
he was cheered by the society of Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld, who 
came to join him, and by a kind visit from his constant friend 
Dr. Haygarth. Four months were spent by him agreeably and 
beneficially in this delightful spot; and the result of the leisurely 
survey of the surrounding scenery afforded him by his daily 
rides, was an animated description of the country about Dork- 
ing which appeared in the Monthly Magazine.'^ Nor was this 
the only record of his abode in Surry. It is from Dorking that 
he dates the commencement of the second volume of his Letters 
from a Father to a Son; and in the introductory letter he ex- 
plains the circumstances which had carried him thither, and de- 
scribes with great sensibility the soothing eff*ects of the charms 
of rural nature on a mind agitated by the cares and hurry of a 
city life, and deeply wounded by "the desolating prospects whicli 
the late train of human affairs had presented to the lover of man- 
kind." 

On quitting Dorking, he hoped to recover a further degree of 
strength by a visit of a few weeks in Bedfordshire ; but here the 
symptoms of his disease came on with increased violence ; and 
it soon became evident that a final renunciation of London and 
of his profession was the only step by which life, with some re- 



Appendix (B.) t -'^PP'^"'^'''' (C.) 



*ifc 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 123 

aaining power of usefulness to his family and the public, could 
be preserved. To submit himself calmly to all inevitable evils, 
was a point of moral discipline which he had long and success- 
fully practised ; and without wasting time in irresolution or fruit- 
less regret, he gave up his house in Broad Street Buildings to 
the occupation of his sons, and in October 1798, removed to 
lodgings in the village of Stoke Newington, where he soon after 
hired a house which continued to be his home to the end of his 
life. 

This removal may be regarded as the termination of his pro- 
fessional life ; — henceforth he seldom acted as a physician but 
within the limits of his own village, and principally for the bene- 
fit of his poor neighbours; for whose service he cheerfully set 
apart an hour every morning, during which he gave advice to all 
who came, besides frequently visiting them at their own houses. 
Literature was his sole regular occupation, and the domestic 
scene almost his only sphere of action. His weak state of health 
during the early part of his residence at Newington, and after- 
wards the love of study, which continually increased upon him, 
supplied him with reasons for declining the ordinary visiting of 
the place, nor did he make any considerable efforts to keep up 
London society ; well content to allow himself to be forgotten, 
by all but the few whom friendship, or real congeniality of taste, 
might prompt to make the effort of seeking him out in his subur- 
ban retreat. The philosophical moderation of his wishes, and 
the high value which he set upon that kind of independence 
which is rarely compatible with projects of worldly advance- 
ment, enabled him without much difficulty to reconcile himself 
to a change by which the career of ambition was closed upon him 
for ever. Habit gradually rendered agreeable to him a mode of 
life which at first had only appeared tolerable ; and while the 
success of his writings, besides making a welcome addition to his 
resources, gave him the well earned satisfaction of believing that 
he still contributed to the pleasure and advantage of the public; 
— at peace in his own mind, beloved and respected by a chosen 
few, and happy in the cultivation of the domestic and social af- 
fections, he saw among the children of prosperity few to con- 
gratulate and none to envy. 

Notwithstanding the slow progress of his health towards amend- 
ment, the year 1799, the first of his retirement, was one of the most 
productive of his litermy life. His superintendence of the Maga- 



*'fe 



124 MEMOIR OF 

zine and contribution to its pages continued ; the first volume ot 
the General Biography was printed in the spring ; and he filled 
up the Interval between its appearance and the preparation for 
a second, with a translation of some Eulogies by D'Alembert, 
and with the completion of a second volume of his Letters to a 
Son. 

The Select JEiclogies of D* Member t, from two volumes octavo ; 
a short biographical preface and a few notes, are all the original 
matter contribute<l by the translator; but whoever is acquainted 
with the entire work, will confess that the task of selection was 
one of considerable delicacy. Respecting this point, the trans- 
lator states that he has taken " those articles which appeared to 
him most likely to engage an English reader, as well as to afford 
that variety of subject which might display the author's senti- 
ments upon the most interesting topics ;" he also mentions with 
regard to the text of the original, that he has only subjected it 
to such slight occasional curtailments as the prolixity of the wri- 
ter's style rendered desirable ; but that he has freely omitted of 
the notes either portions or entire ones at his discretion. 

With regard to the second volume of Letters, after the full 
account formerly given of the nature and scope of the first, a com- 
parison of the contents of the two volumes will sufficiently illus- 
trate the characteristics of the latter. The most obvious point of 
difference between the two, is in the length ot the letters ; thirty 
are comprised in the first, while the second, though of equal bulk, 
contains no more than seventeen. In correspondence with this 
diversity, the topics of the last are usually of a somewhat graver 
cast ; and they are with fewer exceptions such as come home to 
the dearest interests of the reader. A suitable progression is 
observable in the style and tone. In these respects the first 
volume preserves some traces of the characters of youth, but the 
second is strongly impressed with the stamp of maturity. Sub- 
jects are treated with greater depth as well as copiousness, and 
the results of long continued habits of observation and reflection, 
and of the varied experience of life, are every where super-added 
to the dictates of native good sense or the promptings of book- 
learned philosophy. These diversities, greater certainly than the 
apparent interval of time between the two will account for, ad- 
mit however of an easy explanation. 

Not less than twelve or fourteen years previous to the publi- 
cation of the first volume, the idea had already occurred to the 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 125 

author of embodying his remarks on a variety of subjects, moral, 
literary, and critical, in a series of letters, which he then pro- 
posed to address to iiis sister. On further self-examination, a 
doubt whether he had yet accumulated a sufficient stock of ori 
ginal ideas to justify his claiming the public attention in this 
mode, induced him to suspend his design, and give the prece- 
dence to other which he had meditated in less difficult walks of 
literature. He continued, however, silently and gradually, to 
make preparations for this favourite work ; and in proportion as 
topics suggested themselves to his mind, to form sketches of 
which he afterwards availed himself. But the first volume of 
his Letters absorbed all those early collections, and when he sat 
down to the composition of the second, his recent ideas alone re- 
mained to supply him with materials. It will be interesting to 
observe the direction which circumstances, public and private, 
had given them. 

The disappointment of the friends of French liberty was now 
consummated. The impetuous spirit of that people, after break- 
ing out in those excesses of civil fury which had filled all Europe 
with horror, had found a fresh vent in the passion for military 
glory J the achievements of the new republic had already far ex- 
ceeded the boldest projects of Louis XIV.; she had more than 
repaid to her continental foes all the evils which their aggression 
had inflicted upon her; England itself was threatened by her 
with invasion ; and even those who in the outset had protested 
the most strongly against the war, as neither just nor necessary, 
were compelled to acknowledge that it had now become both, 
on the great principle of self-defence. Under these circum 
stances, every thing French had been branded with one com- 
mon note of reprobation ; and under the name o{ French princi- 
ples, even those maxims of civil and religious liberty which are 
most consonant not to reason or philosophy alone, but to the 
genuine spirit of the British constitution, were exposed to con- 
travention, to obloquy, and almost to proscription. It was their 
peri! which principally weighed upon the mind of Dr. Aikin, and 
he flew to their aid with all the force of argument, all the power 
of persuasion or deprecation that he was able to command. In 
his introductory letter he already begins to unbosom himself on 
the subjects nearest to his heart. " What disappointment of 
elevated hopes !" he exclaims ; " what heart rending scenes of 
public and private calamity I What triumph of violence and in 



12G MEMOIR OF 

iustice ! Who but must turn with loathing from successive 
fields of carnage, and shameless violations of all faith, equity, 
and humanity! Nor as yet do the clouds begin to disperse, nor 
can a gleam of brighter day be discerped through the gloom !" 
In the enlarged contemplations of philosopliy, however, and in 
the conviction that good, on the whole, preponderates, he shows 
that philanthropy may find reasons to acquiesce in the partial 
and temporary sufferings of individuals, whether inflicted by hu- 
man or material agents. The greater difficulty, he proceeds, is 
to witness with composure " the failure of prospects of the me- 
lioration of the condition of man by the efforts of his own reason, 
and he who has adopted the pleasing theory of a progress to- 
wards wisdom and virtue, will deplore, more than any common 
evils, the subversion which seems to threaten principle.'^' After 
instancing those fundamental maxims of free government which 
are most endangered, he points out the temporary causes which 
have occasioned this retrogradation, — cautions against the weak- 
ness of trying truth by partial or temporary results, or deserting 
principles on account of their erroneous or abusive application, 
— and ends by wishing for his son, " in the generous spirit of 
ancient philosophy," a free and independent mind, a habit of 
estimating men and things by another rule than the opinions of 
the day, of making truth the great object of his researches, and 
of respecting himself too much to be dazzled by artificial splen- 
dour or awed by arrogant assumption. 

The next letter, On Party, is written in the same intention 
with the former. It combats the favourite maxim of certain wri- 
ters, that parties are all alike, — that they are " the madness of 
many for the gain of a few," — points out the essential and eter- 
nal moral difference between the party of abuse and that of 
reform, — then lays down rules and gives cautions for avoiding 
the violence and absurdity, the credulity, the unfairness, and the 
littleness of party ; and thus concludes : " It is true philosophy 
alone that can elevate the mind above all that is low and debas- 
ing ; and opposite as the characters of Philosophy and Parly 
have usually appeared, I despair not of their union in one 
breast." 

It is sufficient to name the letters. On Authority in Matter of 
Opinion, and On the Respect due to Superiors, to intimate to the 
judicious reader the direct application of these pieces to the cir- 
cumstances of the times ; in fact, the last of these sets out with 



DR. JOHN AlKIN. 127 

an avowal of this motive of selection equally worthy, as it ap- 
pears to me, of the philosopher and the free man. "At a time 
when, on the one hand, extravagant notions of equality have en- 
dangered the existence of civilised society, and on the other, ar- 
rogant claims of superiority are maintained to a degree subver- 
sive of all the principles of civil liberty, it may seem a delicate 
and hazardous matter to touch upon a subject so involved in party 
prejudice as that announced for the present letter But consi- 
derations of this kind have little weight with me, in the choice of 
topics on which to exercise free and manly discussion. On the 
contrary, the more interesting they are rendered by temporary 
circumstances, the more they appear to me to demand that tem- 
perate examination whence useful rules may be derived for the 
conduct of those in whose welfare we are most concerned.'' 

The Letter On Openness and Sincerity, refers very distinctly 
to certain difficulties in which the holders of free opinions were 
then, as at present, involved by the ruling spirit of the times ; it 
also exposes the extravagant notions of the obligation to obtrude 
controverted opinions in all companies, at that time promulgated 
by the author of a celebrated system of Political Justice. That On 
the TciHte of Farming aims at removing some delusory notions 
respecting the pleasures of an agricultural life, which were then 
extremely prevalent, and to which many a thoughtless deserter 
from the office, the counter, or the counting house, has owed the 
ruin of all his rational prospects in life. 

Of the miscellaneous letters void of particular application to 
the times, three are based upon the biographical studies of 
the author. That On a Criterion of Perfection in Tf riling, I 
should point out as a peculiarly successful effort in philosophical 
criticism, and one which it required a rich mind to produce ; 
yet it is I think excelled in reach of thought by that On the compa- 
rative Value of dij^erent Studies, which likewise exhibits very ex- 
tensive knowledge, both of the various branches of human learning 
and of the characters of those by whom they have been eminently 
cultivated. On a topic like this, it is scarcely possible for any 
man to be perfectly impartial ; some predilection for the objects 
of his own pursuit, some depreciation, or neglect of those with 
which he is imperfectly acquainted, will, in spite of himself, be 
apparent to others. A sagacious reader might probably in this 
piece detect some of the predilections or prejudices of the au- 



128 MEMOIR OF 

thor ; but if he had his preferences, it may be allowed that he was 
not destitute of cogent arguments to defend them. 

I quote part of the concluding paragraph for the sake of a re- 
mark which it suggests. " It is not, then, merely the species of 
study, but the mind and spirit with which it is pursued, that 
should I'egulate our estimate of the intellectual powers of the 
student. Folly often conceals herself under the mask of seri- 
ousness, and wisdom is sometimes light and playful. The latter 
knows she hazards nothing by occasionally descending from her 
dignity; whereas folly loses all by losing appearances." This 
observation is peculiarly characteristic ; no man was less a dupe 
to gravity than my father ; a solemn air, particularly in a young 
person, gave him a prepossession against its wearer which was 
rarely to be overcome ; he certainly on all occasions thought 
" the merrier fools the wiser," and few things delighted him 
more in his biographical reading than any anecdotes showing 
genius, wisdom, or virtue, in happy union with that artless spor- 
tiveness which belongs to innocence and good humour alone. I 
am persuaded that in writing this sentence he had in his mind 
a story of the great and excellent Dr. Clarke, which he was fond 
of telling: This eminent person and two or three of his chosen 
learned friends, were one day amusing themselves with jumping 
over chairs and tables, and other youthful pranks ; — suddenly 
Dr. Clarke, looking through the window and espying a solemn 
personage in a large wig making his approach, exclaimed in 
great apparent alarm, — " Boys, boys, be grave, here comes a fool !" 

The letter On the best Mode of encountering the Evils of Life, 
forms an encellent sequel to that On Consolation, in the former 
volume ; it particularly discusses the two principles of resigna- 
tion under evils, and resistance to them ; shows that, notwith- 
standing their apparent opposition, both may and ought to have 
their place in teaching us either contentedly to endure priva- 
tions, or bravely to encounter obstacles. Referring then to the 
power of substitution, which he had before pointed out as the 
best alleviation under the loss of friends, and observing that "in 
all evils of a similar class the same relief should be sought after; 
and that the pursuit of it requires the union of the spirit of re- 
signation with that of resistance, — the first, to prepare the way 
for the second," — he has the following striking reference to his 
own situation : 

" 1 have lost, probably for ever, that health which fitted me for 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 129 

active services and enjoyments, and with it many sources of 
happiness and utility. Shall I abandon myself to unavailing sor- 
row, and drag out a lifeless existence in the inaction of despair.'' 
No. My head and hands are still free, — I can write, read, and 
converse. To these, then, I must look for my future amuse- 
ments and occupations, and I may yet make a good salvage for 
the remains of life." Those who followed him into his retreat, 
— who were his companions of all hours, — who shared his senti- 
ments, his designs, his studies, and his amusements, can bear 
their honest testimony to the constant and cheerful mind with 
which he acted up to the spirit of these noble self-exhortations. 
We had no vain repinings to endure, — no selfish exactions, — no 
fretful idleness. While his illness continued, he was gentle, af- 
fectionate, uncomplaining, and still industrious ; as health and 
strength gradually returned, we saw him active, cheerful, ani- 
mated, contented with the life which he led, and partaking with 
a relish of the cheap and simple pleasures still within his reach. 
The cultivation of a little garden, with a few of his favourite 
rock plants, and an aviary ; exploring rambles through the neigh- 
bouring fields and villages, the easy chat of the domestic circle 
the occasional visits of a few of the most congenial and affec- 
tionate of his London friends, and now and then a social day, or 
a morning of sight-seeing in the great city, were sufficient to at- 
tune his mind to cheerfulness, and to invigorate him for the 
mental labour which he loved. 

Portions of two or three of his letters written to Dr. Haygarth 
in 1798 and 1799, may interest some readers from the view af- 
forded of his opinions or impressions on medical subjects : 

" I am very glad that you mean to communicate to the world 
some of the results of your long and very attentive medical ob- 
servation. Such as you are the only persons I wish to write on 
our profession. We want facts, and not fine-spun reasonings 
or plausible theories. I often feel absolutely shocked at the little 
advance that has been made in the healing art, in really impor- 
tant points, within our memory. Perhaps you are not of the same 
opinion, but I think you must agree with me that much ingenuity 
has been wasted on trifles.*' 

And again : " Your kind plan of finding an useful and profit- 
able employnient for my pen, is an additional instance to many 
others of your friendly zeal in my favour, and demands a fresh 
acknowledgment. It does not, however, require much reflection 
R 



130 MEMOIR OF 

10 induce me to give up the scheme, since it would probably eu 
gage all my remaining days in a course of study which I have 
intermitted, and which would be less pleasant, and I believe less 
profitable to me, than my actual occupations. In truth, the in- 
terest T take in professional matters is now very small, and I 
have been completely disgusted with the absurdities of theory, 
and extravagancies or ambiguities of practice, with which the his- 
tory of the art, down to the present day, abounds. I long ago 
became sensible, also, that to confine the history and biography 
of medicine to our island was a narrow and prejudiced plan, and 
that nothing less than a view of the whole progress of medical 
opinion and practice was an adequate subject for an enlarged 
mind. But this is such a vast topic, that nothing less than entire 
health, spirits, zeal, leisure, and opportunities can enable a per- 
son creditably to go through it. What Haller has done in his 
Bibliolheques is perhaps enough for mere utility, — and what an 
immense labour has he performed ! To make the work also in- 
teresting and entertaining would be an Herculean task." 

". ... I am pleased with your wooden tractors;'^ for although 
I do not think much is gained by freeing mankind from one de- 
lusion, when they are so prone immediately to rush into another, 
yet I love to see fraud and folly exposed. The faculty, however, 
may thank themselves for several late quackeries, since they have 
evidently originated from their mysterious and subtile theories." 

The desire of enjoying some personal intercourse with his 
friend, urged him in the summer of this year to take a journey to 
Bath, whither Dr. Haygarth had recently removed ; but a serious 
return of illness was the result of this effort. Early in the fol- 
lowing year, he experienced a slight paralysis of the left arm ; 
this was attended with no permanent effects, but he well under- 
stood the warning, and he related the circumstance to his medi- 
cal friend with the following remarks : — " This I take as a sort 
of token what I may some time expect ; as indeed some symp- 
toms had before led me to suspect. But if my writing hand is 
spared, I shall think myself pretty well off. I can indeed assure 
you that my spirits have not been in the least affected by this in- 
cident. I had rather not die by inches; but be it as it is de- 
creed !" 



* T!)e moi'ical tender will recollect Dr. Huyt^arth's curious experiments wiili 
wooden tractors, made for the purpose of exposing the quackery of the metallie 
ones. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 131 

After this, his constitution began to rally ; and he went on in 
a progress towards firm health, which continued with few inter- 
ruptions for a long course of years ; his spirits improved in con- 
sequence, and his occupations are thus described to Dr. Haygarth 
in June, 1800:— 

" I continue to go on in my biographical trammels, which keep 
me to constant, but not very hard, work. We are now printing 
the second volume, which will be almost entirely of ray compo- 
sition. Enlarging my department has of course extended my line 
of reading, but I do not think myself much the better or wiser 
for all the theological matter I have been obliged to go through. 
Without the deciding bias of interest, an inquirer into these 
points is more likely to end in scepticism than in conviction. 
Error is ^o manifold, while truth is only one, that the chance of 
hitting upon the latter is very small. It is well that these doubts 
do not attend upon practice, and that duties are generally clear, 
however obscure may be the systems from which they are deri- 
ved." 

In consequence of some remarks of his friend in answer, the 
*iubject is resumed in a following letter, thus : — 

" For the credit of the next volume of Biography, now almost 
printed, I must remonstrate with you, my friend, about your opi- 
nion of my incapacity as a theologian. Do you think that it re- 
quires a black coat to form a just notion of matters accessible to 
every man of reading ? Is it not even an advantage to be free 
from the shackles of sect and profession ? I flatter myself that 
no liberal man can take exception at my articles under that head. 
I have studiously avoided any mixture of personal opinion, and 
have faithfully endeavoured to assign to every one his just me- 
>(rits as a man and a scholar, not regarding the particular cause 
he has supported. However, it was certainly right that this de- 
partment should be assigned to another hand, and it is already 
turned over to a proper person. What I retain is no more than 
I can do with such moderate exertion as is perfectly agreeable 
to me, and indeed necessary to keep me in spirits. You will find 
that a few physicians have passed through my hands ; but I really 
cannot descend from kings and heroes to employ myself solely 
about the paltry intrigues and nonsensical opinions which occupy 
so much of medical biography. I hope you will approve my arti- 
cle of Boerhaave, who is hitherto my best medical subject. 

" The Magazine still affords me a good deal of monthly em- 



132 MEMOIR OF 

ploy. I have also varied my studies by writing some more cnii- 
cal pieces for editions of English poets. I wish you could see 
an essay on the poetry of Milton which I have written at the de- 
sire of Cadell and Davies for a new pocket edition. I think it 
is my best performance of the kind. You see I am not idle. In- 
deed I have more than one necessity for working, and I wish 
not to live longer than I can use my pen." 

The Essay on the Poetry of Milton is inserted in the present 
collection ; and I imagine it will be thought to justify the prefe- 
rence of the author. He spared no efforts to raise himself " to the 
height of this great argument,'' and the syle is wrought up not 
into elegance merely, but brilliancy. 

To the summer of this year belongs the story of a visit, detailed 
in a letter to Mrs. Barbauld, which no reader of sensibility, it is 
believed, would wish omitted. 

" Harborough, July "th, 

" Would you have thought me, my dear sister, a likely man 
for such a flight of sentiment, as that, being somewhat above 
forty miles from Kibworth, I could not forbear visiting it? In 
fact, it had long been the subject of my waking and sleeping 
thoughts, especially of the latter, and I was resolved to give way 
to the impulse. So yesterday after dinner I left G — 's mounted 
on his old mare, which 1 had tried before in a couple of short ex- 
cursions, — and boldly pushed on for Kettering, 27 miles, that 
evening. This morning, starting early, I came to Harborough to 
breakfast, and thence, with beating heart, rode the five miles to 
Kibworth. The church is visible the greatest part of the way, 
so that my approaches were very gradual. I had even sangfroid 
enough to turn off" first to Lower Kibworth, by way of abridging 
the round. One of the first objects that met my eyes was Cap- 
tain Dawes's old mansion with all the windows boarded up, and 
apparently quite deserted. It struck a damp on my spirits, from 
which, however, I recovered on learning from some workmen that 
it was fitting up for a new occupant. I was here told on inqui- 
ry that a Mr. Goodman, a farmer, lived atSmeaton. Supposing 
he was our old Betty's husband, I rode on ; but on coming to the 
house, I found a good old couple indeed, but only by name and 
acquaintance connected with our friends. I was, however, cor- 
dially received, for they knew our family, and the man remem- 
bered me coming to church with my father. After a while, came 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 133 

in their son, the curate of the parish, a decent young man, who 
lives with his wife in the new and handsome parsonage house. 
I was informed that the ether Goodman's now lived at Gumley, 
whicli was too much out of the way for a visit. 

"I found that I had no acquaintance living at Kibworth ; so 
mounting again, I made a slow circut quite through the town, 
which I found vastly lessened in my e/es; yet our old house still 
makes a respectable figure. It is inhibited by the widow Hum- 
phreys. The casement windows and balcony remain as before. 

"I made a complete tour of the churchyard, and recognised 
many familiar names among the tombs, but was disappointed in 
not meeting with that of our grandfafier. Had he a monument? 
There were several become illegible .hrough a coating of moss. 

" Such has been my visit to the naive village. I am not sorry 
I made it, though I sarcely know whither to call the impression 
on the whole agreeable or otherwise.' 

Dr. Aikin now accepted the editorship of a proposed new edi- 
tion of Dr. Johnson's poets, with considfrable additions and al- 
terations. The plan was, for the editot to subjoin to the bio- 
graphical and ciitical prefaces of Dr. Johnson such remarks^ 
either by way of supplement or correctbn, as he should judge 
proper, to reject entirely some articles, md to supply new pre- 
faces to the works of such poets, not inciuded in the former col- 
lection, as it should be judged expedieni to comprise in a new 
one. The strange omission of the autho' of the Faery Queen by 
Dr. Johnson,- — an unpardonable instance either of neglect or pre- 
judice, — was the first deficiency which h^ found to supply; and 
it was for this purpose that he composed the Account of the Life 
and Works of Spenser which stands at the head of his critical 
pieces contained in the present volume, Of this intended col- 
lection of English poetry, fourteen octavo volumes had been 
printed, comprising the works of Spenser, Butler, Cowley, and 
Milton, when the circumstances of the publisher put a stop to the 
undertaking. The remarks respecting the three last named 
poets added by my father, seemed to me incapable of appearing 
with advantage detached from the prefaces by Dr. Johnson, and 
they are therefore not here reprinted. 

In the intervals of his regular occupations during the year 
1801, Dr. Aikin composed tor the use of young people, a very 
instructive little volume entitled The Arts of Life. It is in the 
form of Letters, and under the three heads of food, clothing and 



1S4 MEMOIR OF 

shelter, gives a clear and elegant view both of the arts of first 
necessity, and of those ministering to the comfort and conve- 
nience of man. The knowledge which it contains is very va- 
rious and extensive, and of a kind which the books for young 
people do not usually affnird ; and it is well calculated to excite 
that spirit of observation \^hich the writer considered it as one of 
the leading objects of education to inculcate. A further contri- 
bution to this effect was his Woodland Companion ; or a brief 
description of British trees, with some account of their uses ; pub- 
lished a few months afterwards. The subject was an old fa- 
vourite, as appears from Hs elegant paper on the notices of trees 
in the Latin poets ; and, i4 fact, the first sketch of the work had 
long been lying by him, in the form of a brief botanical descrip- 
tion of trees, illustrated vith neat drawings by his own hand ; 
copied, I believe, as werejthe plates in the printed work, from 
Dr. Hunter's edition of Eiklyn''s Sylva. He now however great- 
ly enlarged his design, and embellished it, in his usual manner, 
with quotations from tie English poets. 

About this time he received a very unexpected proof of the 
continued regard of one of the friends of his youth, in a bequest 
of 1,000/. 4 per cents from Dr. Pulteney, then of Blandford in 
Dorsetshire ; with wh)m he had enjoyed no personal, and very 
little epistolary interc«urse, since they had parted at Leicester 
eight-and -thirty years before. The circumstance touched him 
very sensibly ; and themore, because he always ascribed it rather 
to Dr. Pulteney's reverence and affection for the memory of his 
father, than to his esteem for himself, whom he had known only 
as a youth. The meri.s of Dr. Pulteney as a physician, and es- 
pecially as a botanist, could not be allowed to pass altogether 
unrecorded ; and he hai great satisfaction in paying the tribute 
to his memory of a slort memoir, originally published in the 
Philosophical Magazim, and now reprinted.* 

The cordial friendship entertained by Dr. Aikin for Mr. Wake- 
field, almost from the commencement of their acquaintance at 
AVarrington, has been a ready recorded ; and the renewal of their 
social intercourse has been adverted to as one of the circum- 
stances which he anticipated with the warmest satisfaction on 
taking up his residence in London. It will therefore be readily 



' Appendix (D) 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 135 

conceived, that he had felt the sentence which doomed Mr. 
Wakefield, as the author of a pamphlet judged libellous, to an 
imprisonment of two years in Dorchester Castle, almost as a per- 
sonal misfortune. His joy on the approaching liberation ot his 
friend was proportionally lively ; and it was well expressed in 
the following lines, published in the Monthly Magazine; in which 
it will however be observed, that some prudential counsels are 
gently insinuated amid the sincere expression of esteem and af- 
fection. 

TO GILBERT WAKEFIELD, A. B. 

ON HIS LIBERATION FROM PRISON. 

Pure light of learning, soul of generous mould, 
Ardent in Truth's great cause, erectand free. 
Welcome, O welcome! from thy prison gloom, 
To open air and sunshine, to those boons 
Which Nature sheds profuse, while tyrant Man, 
" Brest in his brief authority," and stern 
In all tiie little jealousy of pow'r, 
Ueslricts the bounty of a Father's hand, 

And scants a Brother's bliss. But now 'tis o'er. 

And social friendship and domestic love 

Shall pour their healing balm ; while conscious worth 

With noble scorn repels the sland'rous charge. 

That brands imprudence with the stamp of guilt. 

Meantime disdain not, learned as thou art. 

To scan this world's great lesson : high-raised hopes 

Of Justice seated on the throne of Pow'r, 

Of bright Astrea's reign revived, and Peace, 

With heavenly Truth and Virtue by her side, 

Uniting nations in a band of love. 

Have faded all to air ; and nought remains 

But that dire law of force, whose iron sway 

The sons of men through every biood-slain'd age 

Has ruled reluctant. When that sage benign. 

The Man of Nazareth, preach'd his gentle law. 

And listening crowds drank honey from his tongue — 

When Mars, Bellona, and the savage rout j- 

Of Gods impure and vengeful, shrunk to shades, 

And rescued Man adored a common sire ; 

Who could refrain to hail the blessed time 

Ot swords to sickles turn'd, of general good 

Pour'd in full streams through all the human tribes, 

And shared alike by all ? But ah ! how soon 

The glorious prospect daiken'd ! When the cross 

Gleam'd direful 'mid the host of Constantine, 

And took the eagle's place — when mitred priests 

Mimick'd the fiamen in his inystic pomp. 



136 MEMOIR OF 

And proiully bt-nt around a despot's throne ; 
Then, whilst thii name at Antioch first I'ever'd 
Ran conquering ihro' tlie world, it lost its sense, 
And join'd in monstrous league with all the crimes 
That force, and fraud, and lawless lust of sway 
Inspir'd toplagn^ mankind. Then, Gospel rules 
Were held an empty letter ; and the grave 
And specious commentator well could prove 
That such an hcly, humble, peaceful law 
Was never meaat for empire. Thus relaps'd, 
The human brute resumed his native form, 
And prey'd again on carnage. 

Cease then, my Friend, tliy generous, hopeless aim, 
Nor to unfeeling Folly yield again 
Her darling sight, of Genius turn'd to scorn, 
And Virtue pining in the cell of guilt. 
Desert no more the Muse ; unfold the stores 
Of fertile Greece and Latiura ; free each gem 
From the dark crust that shrowds its beauteous beams 
And fair present them to th' admiring eye 
Arranged in kindred lustre. Take serene 
The tranquil blessings that thy lot affords. 
And in the soothing voice of friendship drown 
The groans, and shouts, and triumph of the world. 

Mr. Wakefield replied in the following warm lines 

TO JOHN AIKIN, M.D. 

Next to that first of comforts to the soul, 
The plaudit of a conscience self-approv'd, 
AlKiK ! 1 deem the giatulation sweet 
Of sympathising friendship, and a Muse 
Terse, uncorrupt, ingenuous, bold and free ; 
A Muse from whom nor titled grandeur bribes. 
Nor pamper'd wealth, a sacrificial strain. 
Hence, with sensations bland of conscious pride 
1 feel the manna of thy tuneful tongue 
Drop medicinal influence on my breast, 
Ruffled, not torn, by Persecution's blast. 
Thus, after chilling frost, morn's genial ray 
Invigorates, cheers, expands, the shrivell'd flower: 
Thus the broad mountain flings his cooling shade 
O'er the faint pilgrim in a thirsty land. 
Oh ! may thy friend, as in the noon nf life. 
Responsive to the calls of truth and Man, 
Self in benevolence absorb'd and lost. 
Thro' the short remnant of his closing day. 
With brave di fiance, or with calm disdain, 
Front the grim visage of despotic power. 
Lawless, self-will'd, fierce, merciless, corrupt; 
Nor, 'midst the applauses of the wise and good, 
Lose the fond greetings of a M«se like thine ! 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 137 

"" Too truly, alas ! did this excellent man here speak of the 
'short remnant of his closinjj; day!' Not three months after 
these lines were written, the friends to whom he had just been 
restored, were called upon to resign him for ever. He was car- 
ried oflTb}- a fever, the fatal termination of which was anticipat- 
ed by himself from the beginninj>;. When the friends who sur- 
rounded his bedside were anxiously striving to remove a melan- 
choly prepossession which they could not admit to be well 
founded, some one mentioning my father, he eagerly exclai:ued; 
— " Yes, let me see Dr. Aikin, I know he will tell me the truth !" 
He was immediately sent for, but came only to deplore the rapid 
advance of the inevitable catastrophe. To do, at all hazards, 
immediate justice to the memory at least of such a man, my fa- 
thei- felt to be a sacred duty. How he has performed it, will 
best be learned from his own pen.* 

But his sympathy with genius and virtue was not dependent 
on the emotions of friendship, and he was about the same time 
gratified with an occasion of paying a tribute to these qualities 
in the person of a stranger. At Liskeard in Cornwall, there had 
long existed, buried in the most profound obscurity, the Kev. 
Henry Moore, a dissenting minister of <leep learning, particu- 
larly in biblical criticism, and of exemplary piety and worth. 
These qualities were recognised in him by a few brother minis- 
ters and by the very small circle of his congregation and ac- 
quaintance ; but that he possessed, and had diligently cultivated, 
the talents of a poet of an elevated class, was scarcely known to 
two or three individuals. At length the good man, irresistibly 
won to confidence by the amiable and gratifying attentions of a 
lettered friend who sometimes visited him in his retreat, — the 
late lamented Dr. Rett of Clapton, — placed in his hands "a 
volume of MS. poems, which, with singular modesty, he request- 
ed him to show to some person sufficiently conversant with pro- 
ductions of the kind, to judge of their fitness for the public eye." 
The affecting sequel is thus related in the preface with which 
Dr. Aikin introduced these poems to the public. " I was applied 
to on the occasion ; and I trust the readers of these pieces will 
be convinced that I could not hesitate in giving a dicided opin- 
ion in their favour. In reality, I scarcely ever experienced a 



Appendix (E.) 



138 MEMOIR OF 

greater and more agreeable surprise, than on the discovery of so 
rich a mine of poetry, where I had not the least intimation of its 
existence. That the author should have passed seventy years of 
life almost totally unknown, was a circumstance that excited the 
interest of all to whom the poems were communicated ; and we 
were impatient that, however late, he should enjoy those rewards 
of merit which had been so long withheld. In the mean time, he 
was attacked with a severe stroke of the palsy, which, while it 
left his intellects free, incapacitated him from every exertion. 
There was now no time to be lost. My oflTer of taking upon my- 
self the whole care of editorship was thankfully accepted ; and 
a subscription was set on foot which met with the warm support 
of many who were desirous that all possible comfort should be 
supplied to cheer the helpless decline of such a man. But the 
progress of debility anticipated these well intended efforts. He 
sunk tranquilly under his disease on Nov. 2, 1802, having, how- 
ever, lived to enjoy some satisfaction from the knowledge that 
there were persons whom he had never seen, who could regard 
him with cordial esteem and friendship." 

These poems, consisting chiefly of odes, elegies, and hymns, 
rich and ornate in their diction, and strongly impressed with the 
noblest sentiments of virtne and the warm spirit of devotion, 
were well received by a certain class of readers, and passed 
tlirough two editions. 

My father's health was now vigorous; and he was able with- 
out inconvenience to gratify himself with little tours through in- 
teresting parts of the country which were new to him. These 
were always performed in an open chaise, with my mother for his 
companion ;. and were repeated annually during a considerable 
period. His ardent love of the varied face of rural nature, and 
the talent for observation which distinguished him, rendered 
these little excursions, of which he always made copious journals, 
the source of instruction as well as delight; and his contribu- 
tions to the Magazine were frequently varied by the description 
of objects which had thus fallen under his attention. 

In the mean time, the publication of the Biography, which was 
regulated by the convenience of the bookseller, went on at a rate 
which allowed him ample intervals of leisure for other pursuits. 
A French translation from the German of Zschokke's History of 
the invcmon of Sioitzerland by the French, and the destruction of 
the democratical republics of Schwilz, Uri,and Unierwald en, com- 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 139 

iig accidentally into his hands, the deep interest of the narrative 
of that heroical struggle for national independence, so engaged 
his feelings, that he resolved to give a translation of the vvork, 
with a preface, and a supplement bringing down the history of 
the democratic cantons to the restoration of their ancient form 
of government, which the First Consul had finally acknowledged 
the expediency of permitting. 

The preface thus strongly expresses the sentiments with which 
its author regarded the progress of the military despot who was 
then effecting the subjugation of the continent and menacing the 
invasion of Great Britain: — 

" The publication of this vvork in English at the present period 
was thought peculiarly calculated to promote that spirit of re- 
sistance to unprincipled ambition, and the schemes of universal 
domination, which is alone to be relied upon in the arduous con- 
test in which the nation is now engaged. The history of the 
memorable struggle here recorded will shew what a people, very 
inconsiderable in point of wealth and number, was able to do in 
checking the progress of a host of invaders, by the mere force of 
native courage and the enthusiastic love of liberty and their 

country Moreover, it cannot fail to impress every generous 

mind with an indignant sense of the insolence of a lawless con- 
queror, and the degradation incurred by a vanquished and sub- 
jugated people The renovation of the democratical cantons, 

partial and imperfect as it may be, will present the useful les- 
son, that determined valour secures the esteem even of those 
against whom it is exeited, and softens that fate which it may not 
have been able to avert." 

Towards the latter end of the same year, 1803, he occupied 
himself in the composition of a volume of Zei'/ers to a young 
Lady on a course of English Poetry ; — an agreeable proof of the 
undiminished zeal with which he exerted himself to <!iffuse a 
love and knowledge of that noble art from wiiich, during life, he 
had himself derived such pure and elevated delight. 

His next contribution to poetical criticism was an es^ay pre- 
fixed to an edition of Dryden's Fables, which he esteemed it a 
service io the general reader to separate from the obsolescent 
mass of Dryden's political and controversial pieces. He has 
pointed out the excellencies of these delightful narratives with 
the truest taste and feeling; andhis comparisons with the finish- 
ed work of Dryden with the sketches supplied him by his origi- 



140 MEMOIR OF 

nals, will be found curious and interesting. About the same 
time, he gave a new and improved edition of his translations of 
the Life of Agricola, and the Manners of the Germans ; and un- 
dertook a work which requires a more extended notice, entitled. 
Geographical Ddinealions, or a Compendious View of the Natu- 
ral ami Political Slate of all parts of the Globe 

"The precise object aimetl at in this work," says the author 
in his preface, "is to afford, in a moderate compass, and under 
an agreeable form, such a view of every thing most important re- 
lative to the natural and political state of the world whicii we 
inhabit, as may dwell upon the mind in vivid colours, and dura- 
bly impress it with just and instructive notions. In the prose- 
cution of this design, I have been guided by the two leading con- 
siderations respecting each country, what nature has made it, 

and what man has made it Both together have as much as 

possible been brought to conspire in forming the characteristic 

strokes of the sketch No particular class or age of readers 

has been in my view in this performance. If it prove answerable 
to my intentions, young persons of both sexes, at the period of 
finishing their education, may peruse it with advantage, as a sum- 
mary of what is most important to be remembered relative to the 
topics treated of; and it may afford compendious information 
and matter for reflection to those of riper years, who are desti- 
tute of time and opportunity for copious research." 

From this statement it will be perceived, that it is a leading 
object of this performance to communicate those enlarged views 
respecting the globe and its divisions, with their various occu- 
pants, which may rightly be called the philosophy of geography. 
Its place, then, is neither among the regular systems of this sci- 
ence, nor among their abridgments for the use of schools ; — it 
stands by itself, and is designed to follow, or accompany, not su- 
persede, these works. That the matter of fact which forms the 
basis of the design must be derived from books, is almost too ob- 
vious to be stated ; it was, in truth, the product of a very exten- 
sive course of reading; but not only the language, but those re- 
flections which form what may be termed the soul and spirit of 
the work, are entirely the author's own. In tracing these oiit- 
line maps of knowledge, it has formerly been observed that he 
peculiarly excelled ; and the neatness and elegance of his exe- 
cution is, in my opinion, no where more conspicuous than in the 
piece before us. The plan was a favourite one, and he worked 



DR. JOHN AlKTN. 141 

upon it with ease and spirit. In all the branches of knowledge 
to which he applied his mind, it was cliaracteristic of him, leav- 
ing abstruse theories and difficult problems on one hand, and 
dry details on the other, to seek in a middle course the useful 
and the agreeable combiiieil. .Such has been his proceeding in tra- 
cing his (ieographir.id Delineations ; and 1 know none of his 
undertakings in which lie has more completely accomplished his 
object. 

Many of Dr. Aikin's works have been re-printed in the United 
States, and an edition of this appeared at Philadelphia in 1807", 
with a scientific introduction and appendix, and copious addi- 
tions to the original account of North America. 

A few notices of the progress of his feelings and opinions may 
be gleaned from the letters addressed to Dr. Haygarth about 
this period. At the close of 1802, after observing that he had 
passed a pleasant year, in perfect health and spirits, and advert- 
ing to the welcome addition which had been made to his habitual 
society by the removal of Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld from Hamp- 
stead to Newington, — he thus proceeds : 

" So you have the great ex-minister at Bath ! Pray have you 
the honour of attending upon him ? Though I am not an implicit 
admirer of his political conduct, I should be much gratified to 
hear him in a private room, for without doubt he is no ordinary 
man. The present state of things has brought me into an indiffer- 
ence to every thing public, which I cherish as the euthanasia of 
all that was uneasily active in my cosmopolitical character. I 
have settled into a conviction that England is the best country 
in the world, that he is the best minister who lays the fewest 
taxes, and that the truest wisdom, public and private, is to enjoy 
present good and avoid present evil. I am cured of all theore- 
tical ideas of reform ; and if 1 am not convinced that all is as it 
should be, at least I doubt whether it can be better. What re- 
mains with me, is a wish that we should not make that retro- 
grade motion with respect to light and freedom which many seem 
desirous of promoting: but, after all, bigots cannot extinguish the 
freedom of the mind, and the fewer that partake of it, the more 
honourable the distinction. 

"Our fiiend has returned from abroad as much an Anti- 

gallican as one could wish. He cannot be more so than I am^ 
and Miave not the least inclination to imitate the example of 
several of my friends, and visit France, with all its wonders. If 



142 MEMOIR OF 

I can find leisure for a little domestic jaunt every summer, I 
shall be satisfied. We do inhabit a charming country, — that is 
the truth of it, — and I wish I could visit every part of it." 

In the following summer, after expressing the satisfaction and 
pi'ide with which he beheld all his sons in the ranks of the vo- 
lunteers enrolled to resist French invasion, he adds: — "The 
present ardour and unanimity in defence appears to me highly 
honourable to the national character, and I trust will produce 
the eftect either of preventing or defeating the schemes of our 
enemies. I confess, I wish we had a clearer cause, upon paper, 
for our hostilities ; but the sacred duty of defence against an in- 
veterate foe can never be questioned." 

A letter dated in May 1804, thus records his genuine impres- 
sions respecting the character of Dr. Priestley, the tidings of 
whose death in the United States had been recently conveyed to 
England : — 

" Possibly you may have seen in the Monthly Magazine a late 
biographical exertion of mine in commemoration of Dr. Priest- 
ley. I meant it as a plain narrative, rather than an eulogy or an 
apology, except that I was desirous of strongly inculcating a 
conviction of his perfect sincerity in all he wrote, and of the pu- 
rity of his motives. I always lamented, as I believe you did, 
that he should have spent the force of his powerful mind upon 
the subjects which most engaged his attention ; but he had a 
right to decide for himself, and no man was ever more beyond 
the influence of persuasion."* 

In the autumn of 1805, the death of the excellent Dr. Currie 
again imposed upon him the melancholy duty of commemorating 
the talents and virtues of a departed friend. Since the period of 
his quitting Warrington, he had only once, on a hasty visit of 
Dr. Currie's to London, enjoyed the satisfaction of an interview 
with one whose society was so peculiarly formed to interest and 
delight him ; — but the deep impression of their early intercourse 
had never faded from either mind ; and Dr. Aikin was one of the 
two persons to whom Dr. Currie, in an affecting kind of literary 
testament tr&cei\ with his dying hand, committed the care of his 
surviving fame, previously requesting, that if there were any 
memoir of him, it might be " short and delicate." So commis- 



See Appendix (F.) 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. ^ 145 

sioned, my father could not hesitate to comply with the request 
of the family in giving the brief account which his opportunities 
enabled him to compose ; earnestly hoping at the same time that 
fuller justice would subsequently be done to the subject, by the 
distinguished friend whose name was constantly associated with 
that of Currie in every generous plan of private benevolence or 
public good.* 

It was a striking proof of the enlarged and philosophical spirit 
which had presided over Dr. Aikin's critical pursuits, that his 
mind always remained open to the claims of fresh candidates for 
literary fame. A nev/ poet was to him like a new star in the 
horizon of the astronomer, and he rejoiced and triumphed in the 
brightness of its beams. Thus, no predilection for an earlier 
school of poetry, had prevented his doing full justice to that 
which owed its origin to the genius of Mr. Southey and Mr. 
Coleridge ; and 1 have reason to believe that he availed himself 
of one of the most respectable sources of periodical criticism, to 
express his vvarm sense of the poetical powers displayed in some 
of the earliest productions of these gentlemen. With Mr. 
Southey he had afterwards much satisfaction in cultivating a 
personal acquaintnnce, and he entertained for him the true in- 
terest of a friend. I \vell remember, too, the eager delight with 
which he first caught the animated strains of the Lay of the last 
Minstrel, which he used to characterise as the perfection of bal- 
lad poetry; and the high admiration, the deep though somewhat 
painful interest, with which he received the early cantos of 
Cliildc Harold. 

In general, it may safely be affirmed that there was no poeti- 
cal merit of his time to which he was indifferent ; but about this 
period there arose a poet who engaged his attention in a peculiar 
manner; — this was Mr. Montgomery. In the Wanderer of 
Switzerlandy and the smaller pieces by which it was accompa- 
nied, he discovered a freshness of fancy and a depth of feeling 
which in his judgment stamped them as true works of genius; 
at the same time, the tone of melancholy which pervaded them 
was too genuine and too profound, not to excite his sympathy. 
As it appeared that one at least among the causes of the author's 
dejection was the world's neglect, he endeavoured to cheer him 



* Artpendix (G. 1 



144 MEMOIR OF 

by a few laudatory stanzas on his poems, inserted in the Alhe- 
nasum. By means of a common friend, Mr. Montgomery was 
soon apprised to whom he owed this poetical greeting, and he 
wrote a letter of acknowledgment; this was immediately an- 
swered by Dr. Aikin, and thus commenced a correspondence 
which was carried on for a considerable time, with great spirit, 
and with much frank and interesting disclosure on the part of 
Mr. Montgomery respecting his early life and the formation of 
his literary character, without any personal intercourse between 
the parties. At length, Mr. Montgomery visited London, and 
a meeting took place, which proved mutually satisfactory and 
agreeable, notwithstanding the romantic expectations which the 
previous circumstances could scarcely have failed to excite. 
After some time the correspondence languished, but from no 
other cause than a v/ant of topics of common interest ; my fa- 
ther's esteem for Mr, Montgomery always continued unabated, 
and he never spoke of their intercourse but with sincere plea- 
sure. 

Early in the year 1806, my father's connection ceased with 
the Monthly Magazine, and he immediately engaged in the esta- 
blishment of a new periodical work, on what he regarded as an 
improved plan, entitled Tlie Athenseum. The thorough respec- 
tability of the publishers concerned, and their entire forbearance 
of every kind of interference with the management of the editor, 
rendered his concern in this undertaking a source of great satis- 
faction to him ; and no pains were wanting on his part to render 
it successful. He obtained the assistance of many highly respec- 
table literary friends, and several months were almost entirely 
occupied by himself in preparations for the work, of which the 
first number appeared on the last day of 18U6. It was carried 
on during two years and a half, when the proprietors, not finding 
the sale answerable to their expectations, gave it up : the ele- 
gant style in which the Mienaeum was printed, which rendered 
it considerably more expensive than any other monthly publica- 
tion of a similar nature, appears to have been the principal cause 
of its failure. 

One family event of this year may be adverted to, on account 
of the lively satisfaction with which it was welcomed by Dr. 
Aikin, and the large addition which it made to his happiness and 
that of all who were dearest to him. This was the marriage of 
his son Charles to the eldest daughter of Mr. Wakefield ; in 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 145 

^vllom we had the rare felicity to find the high-souled integrity 
and noble ingenuousness which marked lier for the child and pu- 
pil of such a parent, in union with 

" all tliat cultuiTil faste upproves, 

Or Conil afteciion dearly loves." 

For fifteen years we enjoyed the privilege of her delightful and 
afiectionate society, — her memory we can never lose. 

The death of the Rev. G. Walker in 1807, the last survivor of 
the tutors of Warrington academy, gave occasion to a short me- 
moir of him by Dr. Aikin originally printed in The Jithenaeum.* 

During a suspension of the publication of the Biography in 
1809, Dr. Aikin employed himself in translating from the Latin 
Memoirs of the Life of P. D. Hnet, Bishop of Avranches, written 
by himself. The work was inscribed to Mr, Roscoe in an affec- 
tionate dedication, and enriched with an introduction concern- 
ing the state of learning in the time of this erudite prelate, and 
with numerous notes, biographical and critical. It was published 
in the spring of 1810. A few months afterwards, on receiving 
from Mr. Roscoe a copy of his Occasional Tracts on the War be- 
tween Great Britain and France, comprising some remarks on a 
motion of Lord Grey's in favour of peace, he addressed to his 
friend the following letter expressive of the state of his political 
opinions at this juncture : — 

" I have just been reading your observations on Lord Grey's 
motion, and cannot forbear congratulating you on this new effort 
in the cause you have always had so much at heart, that of uni- 
versal philanthropy. I find my sentiments so much in unison 
with yours on this subject, that I feel pride in the conformity. 
Peace, indeed, has long been my chief, I may say almost my sole, 
political wish. Regarding, as I do, war as the greatest of all the 
pests with which human society is afflicted, I think the termi- 
nation of it an actual good with which any hypothetical evil con- 
sequences are not to be placed in balance ; and experience has 
taught me to hold very cheap all that human wisdom which sub- 
mits to present and urgent ills through apprehension of worse 
that may possibly succeed. 

" What effects may proceed from your publication I am unable 



Appendix (H) 



146 MEMOIR OF 

to foresee. Probably your expectations are not sanguine : but 
at any rate you will have entered your protest against the mad- 
ness of the public councils, and have contributed your share to- 
wards bringing the nation to a sounder state of opinion. The 
subsisting engagements with Spain must doubtless interpose a 
great difficulty to any negociations for peace till the fate of that 
country is decided ; for I can scarcely suppose that Napoleon 
would consent to any arrangement that would leave it indepen- 
dent ; but all your arguments pointed against the panic and in- 
distinct fears of the nation, which are the permanent obstacles 
to peace, are independent of this circumstance, and seem to me 
perfectly conclusive. 

" I should anxiously inquiry, were we to meet, your sentiments 
on various other topics, on which I am inclined to believe we 
should readily harmonise ; but a letter is not the place for such 
discussions." 

In the year 1811, Dr. Aikin published a volume of Essays, 
Literary and Miscellaneous, being much enlarged and corrected 
copies from draughts which had previously appeared in the pages 
of the Monthly Magazine and the Jithenseum. Three fourths of 
this work are occupied by two essays, On Similes in Poetry and 
On Poetical Personifications, which may be regarded as very 
complete critical directories for the employment of those splen- 
did embellishments of poetical composition : they are likewise 
rendered agreeable to the general reader by a copious selection 
of examples from the greatest masters of verse, Latin, English, 
and Italian. The remaining contents of the volume are Verbal 
Remarks, principally directed to the leading words in political 
and religious disputes, and pointing out and exemplifying the 
proper and the improper application of them ; and a few miscel- 
laneous essays, greatly resembling, both in style and niatteiv his 
Letters to his Son, and in no respect inferior to them. 

About this period, my father had entertained some thoughts 
of engaging in a history of English literature ; but, on further 
consideration, the magnitude of the design, and the difficulty of 
finding proper coadjutors, deterred him from the attempt ; the 
course of reading and inquiry into which it had led him did not 
however prove entirely unproductive. It now occurred to him, 
that such a view as he had attbrded by his translation of the me- 
moirs of Huet and the appended notes, of learning and its pro- 
fessors in France, might usefully be extended to England during 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 147 

the earlier part of the ITtli ctMitury, when this country first began 
to take a distinjjuisheil station in the re|)ublic of letters, — pro- 
vided any character of sufficient importance to fill the centre of 
the picture could be found. A short examination pointed out 
two distinguished scholars, one of them also eminent as a divine, 
and the other as a lawyer and politician, around whom all the 
notices of persons and things which he was desirous of commu- 
nicating, might conveniently be arranged ; — these were Selden 
and Archbishop Usher; of whom he composed lives which, to- 
gether with the subjoined notes, fill an octavo volume. The 
share taken by these two learned friends, whose diiterence of 
party did not impair their mutual esteem, in the great civil and 
religious contests of their times, has obliged their biographer 
frequently to allude to these trying topics ; and the performance 
derives additional interest from this circumstance. This work 
appeared in 1812, and was inscribed to John Whishaw, Esq. of 
Lincoln's Inn, as a pledge of high esteem and long and cordial 
friendship. 

Towards the close of 1811, Dr. Aikin accepted the office of 
editor of Dodsley's Jlnniial Register; an employment which 
henceforth occupied somewhat more than half his time in a kind 
of labour which was not on the whole unpleasant to him. Soon 
after, a transfer of the property of the General Biography to new- 
hands, put an end to the long suspension of the work, and the 
completion of this task, in conjunction with his new undertaking, 
called upon him for the full exertion of his powers. 

Early in 1813, in a letter addressed to Mr. Roscoe on the re- 
ceipt of one of his political pieces, he thus expressed himself: — 

" Accept my cordial thanks, my dear Sir, for the present of 
your last publication, which I perused with the melancholy plea- 
sure of seeing good sense and sound argument employed in the 
cause of virtue and patriotism, but a cause not only depressed 
by the hand of power, but unpopular among those who are most 
interested in supporting it. The late political events have, I 
confess, deprived me of all expectation of seeing better princi- 
ples prevalent in this country ; whilst the general state of the 
world has as little allowed me to indulge hopes of melioration 
elsewhere ; and were I not obliged in conseciuence of my engage- 
ment in Dodsley's Annual Register to attend to public events 
as they are passing, I think I should shut up my mind to every 
thing but old books, and old and new friends. 



148 MEMOIR OF 

" It is fiMtunate that, interested as we may be in these subjects 
when they come before us, they do not, to most men at least, 
form the staple of life, and that personal and domestic concerns 
take, in fact, the nearest and most habitual place in our hearts. 
To me, I with gratitude acknowledge, that these are the source 
of pleasures which much overbalance the disquiets arising from 
occasional meditation upon the affairs of a world which, while it 
seems to me going very wrong, I have no power to set right. 
And, indeed, if I can suppose the same of other persons, I ought 
perhaps to conclude, that the errors of this world in the general 
are not so destructive to individual happiness as at first view 
they appear. And when I think, my dear friend, of you, witli 
your natural good spirits, your active mind, your many domes- 
tic comforts, and a state of health, I trust, little impaired, lean- 
not but hope that election disappointments and party triumphs 
will make but small inroads upon your peace, or abatement of 
your enjoyments. 

" Were I at present inclined to desponding thoughts, I should 
not find time to indulge them, for I scarcely remember when I 
was so much occupied. I am at this moment conducting through 
the press a large quarto and octavo ; the former the 8th volume 
of the Biography, which is going on again, and I hope will meet 
with no more stops to the end. The latter, the Annual Register 
for 1812, which I am composing as well as printing. I am not 
commonly afraid of work, but I almost feel myself too much 
hurried with this double task. My health is however good, and 
I have seldom been in better spirits." 

In the following year he addresses another friend nearly in 
the same strain of sentiment, — thus : 

" Your Newington friends go on in the jog-trot of life, if not 
very gayly, at least contentedly. We have the enjoyments of 
health, family comforts, books, and a few friends : and surely this 
is a tolerable compromise with fortune in a world so full of change 
and casualty. For myself, nothing can be more uniform than my 
train of existence. My daily occupation is writing; my amuse- 
ments, a visit now and then to town, walking, reading, and do- 
mestic relaxations. I am as yet scarcely sensible of the ap- 
proach of old age, though perhaps others may be so for me. My 
health has never been better than through the last winter, severe 
as it has been. In short, were it not for some anxiety for the 
future, and the extinction of all those hopes of public and private 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 149 

melioration which I once pleased myself with entertaining, I 
should enjoy my existence as much as I have ever done. My 
first public wish is to see the restoration of peace, for none 
of the late triumphs which have been so loudly boasted of, at all 
compensate to my feelings the widely diifused miseries of war, 
and the personal burdens of it in which we all share. I more 
and more detest the horrid war-whoop sounded in our papers, 
and echoed by party and private interest, and in my scepticism 
respecting the good intentions of all men in power, I feel indif- 
ferent to any other success than that which will soonest give re- 
pose to the suffering world." 

The General Biography was at length completed in the spring 
of 1815 ; and the termination of his twenty years task could not, 
on the whole, be other than a cause of rejoicing and self-gratula- 
tion. It would have been mortifying to leave such a work un- 
finished ; and at the age of 68, not many years more of bodily 
and mental vigour could reasonably be reckoned on. Yet, there 
is always somewhat ot melancholy connected with the conclusion 
of a long work ; — to part with an employment which habits has 
rendered easy, and probably agreeable, is parting with a faithful 
friend ; and for the occupations, like the attachments, of the 
active period of life, age can seldom find satisfactory substitutes. 
The form of a dictionary unfortunately did not permit him to 
take leave of the work with those general reflections, — that con- 
.t:<oluding moral, which comes with so good a grace from the ex- 
perienced collector and narrator of a long train of facts ; but his 
philosophical mind had long exercised itself in meditations sug- 
gested by his biographical studies ; and some of their results will 
be found in the miscellaneous pieces comprised in the present 
collection, particularly in one of considerable length On the For- 
mation of Character. 

A letter to Dr. Haygarth, the last specimen of my father's 
epistolary style which I have to offer to the public, records the 
state of his feelings on public and private matters in the spring 
of 1815. 

" Time has run on so unperceived amidst my different engage- 
ments, that f have scarcely been aware of the long interval in 
our correspondence ; but I now feel impatient for a little episto- 
lary converse with one who has for so many years possessed my 
affection and o-ratitude, and for information of his state of health 
and that of his family. With respect to me and mine, not much 



150 MEMOIR OF 

has occurred to break the prevalent uniformity of life. 1 have 
passed the several seasons since we met in genera! good health, 

and my ordinary routine of employment The mildness 

of the virinter has been favourable to advanced life ; January alone 
with us ottered any severity of cold. 

"But whilst nature is presenting a smiling countenance, what 
a terrible prospect is opening of human affairs, in consequence of 
the most unexpected turn things have taken in France! The 
success of this unchained tiger, this new " scourge of God,'* por- 
tends nothing less than the revival of a general war in Europe, 
of the event of which who can see further than the certainty of 
bloodshed, devastation, and every kind of calamity ? If we take 
part in it, as doubtless we shall, what an addition to the burdens 
under which we are groaning, and which press so heavily upon 
the comforts of life in the middle ranks of society ! I own I 
have scarcely courage to confront the evils which seem accumu- 
lating round us, after we had indulged a hope of seeing better 
days. I was about to conclude my history of the last year in the 
Annual Register, with a fond anticipation of general peace and 
prosperity; though I own the grasping spirit disclosed by the 
leading powers in the general congress gave me some misgivings 
as to the continuance of public tranquillity ; but such a change as 
we have witnessed who could foresee ? I wish to know how you, 
in whose constitution hope and favourable views of mankind are 
so happily predominant, are enabled to support your spirits on 
this occasion. Is it not too plain that Europe, at least as long 
as this fiend is in existence, (or, I may say, as long as the dread- 
ful armies which support him are in being,) will be nothing but 
a gladiatorian amphitheatre ? I am so absorbed at present in 
these thoughts, that I can scarcely divert them by books or com- 
mon studies; but why should I endeavour to spread the gloom to 
a friend ? Enough of this." 

With a mind thus overclouded by public cares, constant em- 
ployment was to Dr. Aikin a necessary condition of existence, 
or at least of any tolerable enjoyment of it; and as his powers 
were still vigorous, he was not long in finding some means of 
supplying the vacuity which had been left by the completion of 
tlie Biograph3^ He formed a collection entitled Select Works of 
the British Poets, with short biographical and critical prefaces, 
which proved to be his last contribution to the cause of poetical 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 131 

taste; and he also engaged in a historical work which will per- 
manently add to his reputation. 

For many years it had been his practice, for his own use and 
that of his family, to note down in a concise manner the leading 
public events of his time, in the form and under the title of An- 
nals of the Reign of King George III. These he now reviewed, 
and having greatly enlarged them by reference to various sources 
of authentic information, presented them to the public in two 
volumes octavo. The first edition ended with the peace of Paris 
in 1815, but a second brought it down to the death of George 
III. The preface claims for the work, no other character than 
that, of "a summary of the principal events, domestic and foreign, 
of the late reign." "In its composition," adds the author, 
" the objects in view have been, perspicuity and order in 
narrative, selection of the most important circumstances, and 
a strict impartiality, exhibited not only in a fair and ungarbled 
representation of fiicts, but in the absence of every kind of 
colouring which might favour the purposes of what may properly 
be denominated party. This last intention, which has never 
ceased to guide the writer's pen, did not appear to him necessa- 
rily to preclude every expression of his feeling on points involv- 
ing moral or constitutional questions ; but he trusts that he shall 
be found to have used this liberty with moderation and reserve, 
and without any effort to enforce opinions in their nature du- 
bious or disputable. Where, indeed, in the records of history, 
can the period be met with, which, to one whose life has passed 
in contemplating the whole shifting scene, is calculated to incul- 
cate a more impressive lesson against presumptuous confidence 
in speculative notions, or positive judgments respecting charac- 
ters and actions ?" 

No one, I believe, not himself under the strong influence of 
the spirit of party, will dispute the perfect sincerity with which 
it was in this instance disclaimed. Who indeed can ever aspire 
to the difficult praise of impartiality in treating of contemporary 
history, should it be denied to one totally unconnected with pub- 
lic lite, shackled by no obligations to a patron or a party, desti- 
tute of all aspiring views either for himself or his family, of a 
temper naturally calm and equable, who, near the close of a 
long life passed in the pursuit of wisdom and the study of man- 
kind, sits down with the sole and single purpose of relating facts 
without suppression or disguise for the instruction ofhiscoun- 



152 MEMOIR OF 

trymen ? The style of this work possesses the neatness, perspi- 
cuity and vigour, which mark the manner of the writer ; other 
praise it does not affect, — but how rare and how valuable is this 
manly and elegant simplicity ! 

The Annals appeared in the summer of 1816; the remainder 
of that year was passed by the author in health and comfort, and 
he was still planning new designs, — for no one was ever more 
stedfast in the purpose to "work while it is called to-day," — 
but the night was fast approaching. Early in the following 
spring, the melancholy prognostication which he had drawn from 
the temporary numbness of his arm, so many years before, was 
verified by a severe and dangerous stroke of the palsy, which de- 
prived him for a time of the use of his faculties, and nearly of 
the power of speech. After a few months, he regained his health, 
and with it his mental powers, some failure of memory except- 
ed ; but he knew too well, and felt too keenly, that this was a 
respite not to be relied upon for a day or an hour; and we had 
the grief to observe his spirits gradually sinking under the con- 
sciousness of a slow but sure decay of all his capacities of use- 
fulness and enjoyment. This deplorable progress was sttiking- 
ly hastened by a severe domestic calamity, the death of his 
youngest son.* 



* I trust it will not be judged a trespass against proprielji to insert in this place a 
brief tribute to the memory ot a man of genius and of worth, whose hard fate it was 
to die without iiis faiDC, originally composed for insertion in a collection of Lives of 
English Architects, which bus not yet been given to the public. 

Edmund Aikin wasborn at Warrington, in Lancashire, on October 2, 1780. 

With the exception of occasional attendance at a day school, his education was en- 
tirely domestic, and his excellent and assiduous parents his sole instructors. The 
preference of private to public instruction, a choice selilom expf-dient with respect 
to those who are destined to be the artificers of their own fortunes, — was in his case 
decided by the early appearance of a considerable inipediment in speech, which, 
united with a disposition reserved and sensitive ni the extreme, rendered it alike in- 
dispensable to his progress and his liappiiiess to continue to him the benefit of modes 
of instruction contrived expressly for his use, and still to surround him with the ten- 
der protection of his home. It was from this infii-mity probably, and from the means 
adopted to lighten its pressure upon his spirits in childhood, that his character re- 
ceived its stamp, his genius its dirL-ction, and the destiny of his life its prevailing 
colour. 

Pensive, imaginative, and taciturn from necessity, reading and reverie held the 
first place among his pleasures, and almost in infancy he discovered in the use of the 
pencil a resource which he seised upon with avidity, and continued to improve with 
ardour. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 153 

From misfortune of this nature our family had mercifully en- 
joyed a long exemption ; during a period of five-and-thirty years, 



To copy, was of course his earliest ' xercise, in which he acquired unusual accu- 
racy and neatiu-ss "f hMnil ; but he q lickly aspired at some ihiiig like oi'iginality, and 
in the liiousandscif human figui' s -nd countinaiices which his leisure luoiii.-nls were 
occupiiMl in sketching, he shadowed forth the features and actions of his favourite 
charactf'rs ii> history, the visions of ihc poets whom he studied whh unceasing de- 
light, and the inspirations of his own fertile fancy. 

It soon became manifest that his vocation was to one or other of the arts of df sign; 
and his father's removal 10 London in the year 1792, afforded oppoi'tunities for the 
cultivation of his talent which were sedulously improved; at the same lime it was 
judged prud.-nt to select as his profession an art which, by uniting the useful with 
the ornamental, seemed less precariou* as a means of support than either painting 
or sculpture ; and at a proper age he was articled to a highly respectable surveyor 
and builder. Adequate provision was thus madf for his acquisition of the principles 
of constriirtinn, and of its tnechanical det.iils ; but for all that constitutes the archi- 
tect, in the noblest sense of the term, lie was still to be indebted to voluntary study^ 
to observation, reflection, and the promptings of his own mind. In this situa- 
tion, while his diligence and punctuality secured the esteem of his master, the 
unfoldingsof his genius realised the tbndest hop'S of his family and friends. The 
glories of his art were never absent from his thoughts; he sketched, he planned, he 
meditated, and his imagination revelled with delight amid temples, palacrs, and tri- 
umphal arches of his own creation. On becoming his own master, he immediately 
commenced business for himself as an architect and surveyor, and soon obtained a 
moderate share of employment. Adopting the literary habits of liis family, he also 
exercised his pen on professional topics, and severKl of the earlier articles in Dr. 
Rees's Cyclopxdia, in the class of civil architecture, were written by him. 

The laudable desire of seeing a W-ee communication of ideas estaiilishird among 
members of (he s.<me profession, and of extending the influence of an art which he 
loved, induced him to become one of the founders of the London Architectural So- 
ciety , established on the principle of each membei'a producing in turn either an 
essay on some professional suliject, or an original design, accompanie<l by an ample 
description, which became the topic of discussion for the evening. In 1808, the So- 
ciety published in an octavo volume a selection of the essays rejnl at Us nieeiiogs. and 
one on Modern Architecture by Edmund Aikin led the way. This piece, composed 
in the vigorous and original st> le which <iistiii!;"iish -d his prodiictions,displayeil ninch 
reading, both professional and general, and, what is much higher (jraise, it exhibit- 
ed a mind ca|inble or penetrating into iliose first principles ol art on which the just 
application of all technical rules must tiepend, while it evinced that enlargement as 
well as refinement of taste which belongs to such minds alone. 

Two years afterwards, he gave to the world a series of d' signs for villas, preceded 
by an ii.trnduetinn ol considerable bngth, in which he turiher unfolded his opio ons 
on modern architecture, and on the kind and d-^ree of imitation .f the anoenis best 
suited to the purposes and circumstances of the ptesen^ times. Hi- opposed witli 
inge? uity and force the prevailing fondness for the Goth'c, as applied to d'inies*ic 
arch't. cture, and proposed as a substitute an ••daptation of ih- Orimtal. or Moham- 
tueilan style of architecture, chiefly as exhibited in Mr. Daniell's Views in India. 
This idea he illustrated by several designs of an or uteand pictuicsqu chara-ter. 

In 1812, he presented to the Architectural Society the most important of hi-s 

u 



154 MEMOIR OF 

my father had not once been called upon to resign a member of 
his household circle ; — and in the state of decay to which he was 



works, his Essay on tlie Doric Order ; which was so highly a|)pi'ove(l that it was de- 
termined to publish it, at (Ir^ expense of tlie Society, in ;i splendid folio form, illus- 
tratc-d with several plates. This pic-e possessed, besules its intrinsic merit, that of 
suppljing a desideralum. All architectural writers, from Vitinvins downwards, 
had treated of this order, the earliest and the most majestic of all, atcnrdinjj in such 
ideas of it alone as were to he derived from the > xisting Roman exaniplf s, depraved 
imit'.ifiofis, as it now appears, rather ihan faithful copies from the temples and 
otht^r public edifices which t-nnobled the cities of ancient Greece. At length, these 
veiieiable monuments had been ex|ilored and described hy English travellers and 
artists, with skill and dil'gencc worth) of the obji-cts; and the It-ained and splendid 
work of Stuart and R^ vet on Athens, the Ionian Antiquities published b\ the Dilet- 
tanti Society, and the later work of Mr. Wilkins. affordi d sufficient materials for a 
much improved delineation of Doric architecture, founded on pure and primitive 
models. Such a delineation, the pen and pencil of the author her< afford, d ; he 
also compared and criticised the examples which he- presenti'd, and he concluded by 
giving; some original designs of this order adapted to modern imitation. 

Mr. E. Aikin afterwards resided for a considt-rable time with General Sir Samuel 
Bentham, and gave his assistance to this distinguished engineer in several public 
works which he was planning or executing at Siiterness, Portsmouth, and else- 
where. In this situation his attention w:is particularly called to tht- subject of bridge 
building, and he published in concert with Sir S. Benlham the designs for abridge 
erected over the river Swale. 

An interesting essay on St. Paul's cathedral, accompanying the designs of Mr. 
James Elmes, proceeded from his pen in 1813, which, with some observations on 
the architecture of the age of queen Elizabeth, appended to his sister's J[Ie?noirs of 
the Court of Queen Elizabeth, completes the catalogue of his printed writings. 

The preference which his designs for the Wellington assembly rooms at Liverpool 
received from a committee appointed to conduct the undertaking, induced him in 
1814, to repair to the spot, where he superintended the execution of the building; 
and the encouragement of several valuable friends engaged hira to fix his future re- 
sidence in that town. Another public building, the Liverpool Institution was com- 
mitted io his rr.anBgcmont ; but it was here his business to adapt an existing edifice 
to this destination by alterations and additions,— a task of more difficulty and less 
hoi'Oiirthan the erection of an entirely new one. He also decorated the town and 
environs with several elegant villas, and other buildings ; and if, in some instances, 
he was obliged to comply with the fondness for modern Gothic against the dictates of 
his own taste and judgment, his profound knowledge of the principles of construc- 
tion on which this style depends, enabled him to give uncommon correctness and 
elegance, and what may he called an air of good sense, combined with picturesque 
eff ct, to these difRcult imitations. These qualities were still more strikingly dis- 
played in many designs for churches which he composed on different occasions, none 
of which, however, have yet been executed. 

The progress of an architect in the higher branches of his art is in this country 
slow and difficult; because great ignorance, and consequently great indifference, on 
the subject of architectural beauty and deformity pervades the British public In 
addition to this general cause of delay and disappointment, the success of Mr. E. 
Aikin m as impeded by temporary and local obstacles, and most of all, perhaps, by 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 155 

now reduced, so keen a trial of parental feelings as now occur- 
red, was evidently beyond his strength. He avoided complaint 
almost entirely, but his anguish was profound, and its effects in- 
curable. Enough of bodily strength however remained, to pro- 
tract the struggle with existence till the mind was almost totally 
obscured. One sentiment alone, that of affectionate attachment 
towards those whose assiduity ministered to him all of comfort 
that he could yet enjoy,— and to her, most of all, whose tried and 
faithful lenderness had best deserved a husband's love, — survived 
and triumphed to the last. 

After a long course of the distress and suffering incident to 
this form of natural decay, which those who have ever witnessed 
it will sufficiently conceive, and of which others may regard it as 
a privilege to be able to form no idea,-«^a stroke of apoplexy closed 
the scene on December 7th, 1822. 

That life may not be prolonged beyond the power of usefulness, 
is one of the most natural, and apparently of the most reasonable 
■wishes man can form for the future ; — it was almost the only one 
which my father expressed or indulged, and I doubt not that 
every reader will be affected with some emotions of sympathetic 
regret on learning that it was in his case lamentably disappoint- 
ed. To those whose daily and hourly happiness chiefly consisted 
in the activity and enjoyment diffused over his domestic circle by 
his talents and virtues, — the gradual extinction of this mental 
light was a privation afflictive and humiliating beyond expression. 
But in all the trials and sorrows of life, however severe, enough 



the rest-rve, the timidity, the scrupulous delicacy, and the nice sense of honour which 
characterised him. Meantime, life was wearing away ; a constitution never robust 
had been undei'mintd by severe attacks ot illni-ss ; spli'its never very buoyant had 
begun to yield to depression, ami the brilliant visions witb which conscious genius 
had cht ered the rnoi ning of existence began to (n(\e fi om before him. These clianges 
were beheld with anguish by the few who thoroughly knew and could duly appreci- 
ate his many great excellencies, moral and intellectual : — his extensive knowledge, 
his strong and clear judgment, his fine taste, and his ardent love of the good and 
fair; — the sweetness and strenity ol his temper, the modest gracefulness of his man- 
ners, the model atiou of bis wishes, the nianly independence of his principles, and 
the p -rfect truth ."^ud probity whicli pr. sided overall his words and actions. Dui'ing 
tht s'lram-r of 1819, he had struggled with difficulty through a protracted malady, 
and had been enabled to resume with some energy his professional occupations ; but 
tl'> seeds of disease still lurked in his constitution, and a winter journey from Liver- 
pool to London the following Cbrisimas perhaps hastened their development. 
Alarming symptoms recurred with augmented force, and alter a painful struggle he 
expired at his father's house, at Stoke Newington, on March 11th, 1820, 



156 MEMOIR OF 

of alleviation is blended to show from what quarter they proceed; 
and there were still circumstances which called for grateful ac- 
knowledgment. The naturally sweet and affectionate disposi- 
tion of my dear father ; his strictly temperate and simple habits 
of living, and the mastery over his passions which he had so con- 
stantly exercised, were all highly favourable circumstances; and 
their influence long and powerfully counteracted the irritability 
of disease, and caused many instructive and many soothing and 
tender impressions to mingle with the anxieties and fatigues of 
our long and melancholy attendance. His literary tastes were 
another invaluable source of comfort; long after he was incapa- 
citated from reading to himself, he would listen with satisfaction 
during many hours in the day to the reading ot others ; poetry> 
in particular, exercised a l^ind of spell over him; Virgil and 
Horace he heard with delight for a considerable period, and the 
English poets occasionally, to the very last. The love of chil- 
dren, which had always been an amiable feature in his character, 
likewise remained; and the sight of his young grand-children 
sporting around him, and courting his attention by their affec- 
tionate caresses, had often the happy effect of rousing him from 
a state of melancholy languor and carrying at least a transient 
emotion of pleasure to his heart. His health also continued gene- 
rally good almost to the end, and we had seldom the distress ot 
seeing him under the influence of bodily pain. The final boon, 
an easy dismissal from life, was also granted him. 

He was interred in the church-yard of Stoke Newington, where 
a simple monument is erected to his memory with the following 
inscription : 

In memory of 
JOHN AIKIN, M. D. 

who was born at Kib worth, in LeicestcrshirCj 

Jan. 15th, 1747, 

died in this Parish 

Dee. 7th, lStl2, 

A strenuous and consistirnt assertor 

of the cause of civiS an<l religious liberty 

and of the free exercise of reason 

in the investigation of truth . 

Of unwearied diligence in all his pursuits, 

he was characterised, 

in his profession, 

by skill, humanity, and disinterestedness j 

in his writings, 

by candour, by moral purify. 



DR. JOHN AIKIN. 157 

by good sense, and refiiit!<l taste. 

Iti the i'ltercoursi' ot'socii-ty 

lie was affable, kind, cheerful, instructive ; 

as a hus land, a fatlu-r, and a friend, 

unblemisiied, revered, and beloved. 

To this summary of my father's character, I have nothing here 
to add ; — should any desire a description of his outward form, let 
them accept the following. He was of the middle stature, and 
well proportioned, though spare ; his carriage was erect, his step 
light and active. His eyes were grey and lively, his skin natu- 
rally fair, but, in his face, much pitted with the small pox. The 
expression of his countenance was mild, intelligent, and cheer- 
ful, and its effect was aided in conversation by the tones of a 
voice clear and agreeable, though not powerful. 



CRITICAL ESSAYS 



On 



ENGLISH POETS. 



ACCOUNT 



THE LIFE AND WORKS 



i^IPHl^T^^IEo 



THE early efforts in poetry of all nations are necessarily rude 
and imperfect. Many attempts must be made, before a barbar- 
ous language can be so disciplined into correctness of q^iction, 
and melody of sound, as to afford a material which even genius 
itself can work into any thing truly excellent And when im- 
provement has proceeded so far that lines and passages are to 
be found deserving of real admiration, these will long be of rare 
occurrence, like specks of gold in a matrix of brute earth. Pro- 
ductions of such a period, however interesting they may be to 
the critical inquirer into the history of national literature, will 
give more disgust than pleasure to one who reads for amusement 
only, and who has already formed his taste upon the best models 
of different ages and countries. 

It might be difficult to ^determine with which of the English 
poets commences that degree of masterly execution which is ca- 
pable of satisfying a cultivated taste ; but that Spenser is with- 
in this limit, will hardly be questioned by any one who has suf- 
ficiently familiarised himself with his writings to disregard the 
uncouthness of an antiquated diction. His name, ton, by long 
possession, has obtained a permanent rank among the major poets 
ofthe nation ; so that the student of English verse cannot, even 
through regard to his reputation, safely remain unacquainted with 
the works of one who fills such a space in the history of his art. 
As the undoubted head of a peculiar class of writers, Spenser, 
too, claims the notice of literary curiosity ; for no adequate idea 
can be formed of the extent to which personifi,cation and allegory 
X 



162 SPENSER. 

may be carried, witliout a perusal of the Faery Queene. On all 
these accounts, it is presumed that the admission of Spenser's 
works into a collection of the principal English Poets will appear 
much less extraordinary, than the former rejection of them.* 

Few of the eminent English writers are less known by authen- 
tic biographical records than Spenser; and it is necessary to be 
contented with such a defective and partly dubious account of 
him as can be derived from a few traditionary notices, and from 
circumstances incidentally alluded to in his works. 

Edmund Spenser was born in London, probably of obscure 
parentage, since he has given us no information on that point, 
though he has taken care to record that he derives his name from 
"an house of ancient fame," meaning the noble family of Spen- 
ser's of Althorp. It does not appear, however, that he ever claim- 
ed kindred with that house, or was acknowledged by it. He was 
entered as a sizer (the lowest order of students) at Pembroke 
Hall, Cambridge, in the year 1569. From this date ma}"- with 
probability be inferred that of his birth, which has been strange- 
ly misrepresented in the inscription on his tomb. Supposing 
him, when he entered at university, to have been sixteen, the 
usual academical age at that period, he must have been born 
about the year 1553. He took the degrees of Bachelor and 
Master of Arts, the latter in 1576, in which year he was an un- 
successful competitor for a fellowship. Mortification for this 
disappointment probably drove him from college; and we find 
that he took up his residence for some time in the North, butiu 
what quality we do not learn. Here, an incident of importance 
in a poet's life occurred, that of his falling in love. His mis- 
tress, whom he has commemorated under the name of Rosalinde, 
after leading him through the usual vicissitudes of a love adven- 
ture, finally deserted him. Nothing could be more natural, than 
that such a circumstance should, in a mind addicted to the 
Muses, produce pastoral poetry ; accordingly, he wrote his 
"Shepherd's Calendar," a part of which is devoted to amorous 
complaint, and of which the general strain is serious and pensive. 
This he published in 1579, dedicated, under the humble signa- 
ture of Immerito, to Mr., afterwards Sir Philip Sidney. To the 
acquaintance of this celebrated person he was introduced by a 



* Tliis article was written for a new edition of Johason's Poets. 



SPENSER. 163 

friend named Gabriel Harvey; and as this was previously to his 
publication of the Shepherd's Calendar, part of which he even 
composed at Penshurst, it seems fully to refute a romantic talc 
concerning his first introduction to Sidney. This story relates, 
that Spenser one morning repaired to Leicester-house, an entire 
stranger, and provided with no other recommendation than the 
ninth canto of the first book of the " Faery Qneene," in which 
is contained the fine allegory of Despair. Having obtained ad- 
mission to Sidney, and presented his paper, tliat lover and judge 
of poetry was so struck with a particular stanza, that he iniiue- 
diately ordered fifty pounds to be given to the author; and pro- 
ceeding to the next stanza, he raised his gift to a hundred 
pounds ; which sum he doubled on reading a third, and com- 
manded his steward to pay instantly, lest he should be induced 
by a furtiicr delay to give away his whole estate. Sir Philip was 
a character of uncommon and romantic generosity; but such a 
rate of estimating verse was not at all conformable to the spirit 
of the times. Indeed, the story would scarcely suit any patron 
upon record but a Roman emperor or a Saracen caliph. It is 
not to be doubted, however, that Sidney was a warm and liberal 
friend to .Spenser. He caused him to quit his rural retreat, and 
try his fortune at court ; and by his means Spenser was made 
known to the Earl Leicester, and finally to Queen Elizabeth. The 
bounty of his sovereign lady (who probably received more learn- 
ed adoration, and at a cheaper rate, than any crowned head be- 
sides) is more credible in its measure than that ascribed to Sid- 
ney. She is said, upon his presenting some poems to her, to 
have ordered him a gratuity of a hundred pounds ; which sum 
appeared so extravagant a reward for a rhymer, to the Lord trea- 
surer Burleigh, that he deferred the payment^ till he received a 
repetition of the order from his mistress, not without some chid- 
ing for the delay. Either this circumstance, or Spenser's attach- 
ment to persons disliked by the treasurer, rendered this potent 
minister a lasting enemy to the poor poet, who in several parts 
of his works alludes to this misfortune, which he is thought 
imprudently to have aggravated by some satirical inuendo?. 
'J'he Earl of Leicester's friendship, however, produced some 
valuable fruits. In 1759, he sent Spenser upon some commis- 
sion to France ; and it was probably through this nobleman's re- 
commendation, that he was appointed secretary to Arthur Lord 
Orey of Wilton, when he went as lord deputy to Ireland, in 



164 SPENSER. 

1580. In this situation Spenser displayed tliose talents for bu- 
siness which many examples show to be very compatible with a 
genius for elegant literature. He wrote a "Discourse on the 
State of Ireland," containing many judicious observations on the 
schemes of policy proper for that country. His services to the 
crown were rewarded with a grant of 3028 acres in the county 
of Cork, out of the vast forfeited property of the Earl of Desmond: 
— ^an ample possession, upon an insecure tenure ; like all those 
which different rebellions have conveyed from Irish to English 
proprietors, and which have been usually bestowed with a profusc- 
ness proportional to the celerity with which they were acquired. 
Spenser's residence was the castle of Kilcolman near Done- 
raile, one of the Earl of Desmond^s seats. Here he describes 
himself, in the style of pastoral poetry, as keeping his sheep 
"under the foot of Mole, that mountain hore," and frequenting 
"the coolly shade of the green alders by the Mulla's shore;" — 
names which have in some measure been rendered classical by 
his Muse. It was here that he first received a visit from that 
splendid character, Sir Walter Raleigh, then a captain under 
Lord Grey. In his pastoral fiction, Spenser gives Raleigh the 
title of the Shepherd of the Ocean, and highly extols his curtesy 
and elegant accomplishments. Raleigh proved his friendship by 
some court services which he rendered the poet ; indeed Spen- 
ser says, that he " first enhanced to him the grace of his queen." 
Perhaps he was instrumental in procuring from the crown a con- 
firmation of Spenser's grant of land, which he obtained in 1586' 
They went together to England, where it seems that our poet 
wished to obtain a settlement, rather than to continue in a coun- 
try which, whatever might be its rural charms, was little better 
than barbarous in point of society and civilisation. It might be 
during his attendance on the court in this visit, that he was made 
fully sensible of the chagrins and mortifications which he has so 
so forcibly described in the following lines of his " Mother Hub- 
bard's Tale :" 

Full little koowest thou that hast not trj 'd. 
What hell it is in suing long to byde ; 
To lose good days ll)Ht might be better spent. 
To waste long nights in pensi?e discontent; 
To speed to-iiay, to be put back to-moiro\v, 
To feed on bope, topine with fear and sorrow ; 
To ha»e thy prince's grace, yet want her peers'', 
'l"o have Ihy asking, yet wait many years ; 



SPENSER. 1G5 

To frettliy soul wlili ci'nssi-s and with cares, 
To t'iitlliy lu'arl willi coiuloilk'SS despairs; 
To liuvti, to croiitli, to wait, to ride, to ran, 
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone. 

Spenser returned to Ireland ; and if the leisure of an involun- 
tary retreat was the cause of his writing the Faery Queene, we 
must rejoice at the disappointment of his wishes, which detached 
him from the obscure group of placemen and courtiers. Of that 
poem, it appears, from the author's letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, 
that the whole plan was formed, and three books were written, 
in the beginning of 1589. These were published, with a dedi- 
cation to Queen Elizabeth, in 1590; and it can scarcely be 
doubted, that in a learned and poetical age they would excite 
much notice and admiration. The author, indeed, did not 
leave them solely to their own merits ; for he introduced thein 
with complimentary sonnets to several persons of quality, 
among whom he did not think it prudent to omit Lord Burleigh. 
Yet in his address to that minister, he shews how little he could 
depend upon him as a friend to poetry — to his "idle rhymes, the 
labour of lost time, and wit unstay'd ;" and'he only humbly pre- 
sumes that their " deeper sense" may obtain his ajjprobation. 
The Queen rewarded him for his poetry and compliments by a 
pension of 50/. per annum, granted in February, 1591, and he 
may thenceforth be considered as her laureate, though the title 
was not formally given him. 

It was not till his fortieth year that lie repaired the loss of his 
Rosalinde, by a marriage with "a country lass of low degree,*' 
but who had a stock of charms sufficient to inspire the happy 
lover with matter for a very poetical and rapturous epithalamium. 
It is to be supposed, that, with such a partner, his life passed 
more agreeably in his rural banishment, and that he ceased to re- 
gret that court, the disquiets of which he had so acutely felt. In 
1596, he published a new edition of the Faery Queene, with the 
addition of three more books, which only half completed his de- 
sign. If the traditionary story be true, that the remaining six 
books were lost by a servant who had the charge of bringing 
them over to England, the event may be reckoned among the 
most afflictive that could happen to a poet, and would probably 
be felt by him as severely as his subsequent misfortune of the 
plunder of his house, and the destruction of his whole property, 
in the rebellion of Tyrone. He himself was driven for refuge to 



166 SPENfcER. 

England, where he soon after died, in 1598, probably a victim to 
grief and despondence. He was interred in Westminster-abbey, 
near the remains of his poetical father Chauceir, and at the charge 
of the noble-minded, though imprudent and unfortunate Ear) of 
Essex. Several of his brother poets attended his obsequita, and 
threw into his grave copies of verses to his honour. Nothing is 
known of his family or posterity, further than that one of his de- 
scendants came over from Ireland, in King William's reign, as 
a claimant of his estate. 

Of the manners, conversation, and private character of Spen- 
ser, we have no information from contemporaries; our conclu- 
sions must therefore be only drawn from his writings, and the 
few known events of his life. To the intimate friend of Sidney 
and Raleigh, especially of the former, it is reasonable to attribute 
virtue as well as genius. His works breathe a fervent spirit of 
piety and morality ; and it would be difficult to conceive of any 
thing base or dissolute in conduct, in conjunction with the dig- 
nity of sentiment which is uniformly supported in the productions 
of his Muse. A querulous disposition, however, occasionally 
breaks torth ; nor does he seem to have been contented under a 
fortune more affluent than usually falls to the lot of a poet. He 
paid considerable court to the great, but without that extrava- 
gance of adulation which was not uncommon even among the 
eminent persons of that age. He possessed friends as well as 
patrons, and his death was lamented as a public loss to the lite- 
rature of his country. 

We are now to speak of Spenser in his poetical capacity. 
Fraught with the stores of ancient learning and of the school- 
philosophy of his time, and conversant with the poets of Italy, 
and the tales of popular romance, he came fully prepared for the 
execution of any plan of poetical invention which his genius, mo- 
delled by the taste of the age^, might suggest ; and he found his 
native language sufficiently cultivated to serve as a vehicle of 
poetical conceptions of any class. The revival of letters had not 
as yet produced in Europe the revival of that pure and natural 
taste which distinguished the best periods of Greece and Rome. 
A passion for marvellous adventure, carried to the limits of the 
absurd and burlesque, and a disposition to veil truth under the 
disguise of allegory, characterised the writers who were the fa- 
vourites of the day. Spenser did not possess that rare elevation 
of genius which places a man above the level of the age ; but he 



SPENSER. IG7 

had the richness of invention, and the warmth of feeling, which 
present the manner of the age in its happiest form. His first 
performance, however, did not indicate a marked superiority 
over the contemporary poets of this country. 

The Shepheud's Calendar is a series of Pastorals, formed 
upon no uniform plan, but in general lowered down to that rus- 
tic standard which is supposed appropriate to this species of com- 
position. The gradation of rural scenery according to the changes 
of the year, which the title of the piece would lead the reader to 
expect, forms but a small, and by no means a striking, part ol the 
design, wltich is rather moral than descriptive. The shepherd's 
character is borrowed chiefly for the purpose of giving grave lec- 
tures on the conduct of life ; of panegyrising a sovereign, or la- 
menting a lost friend : it is even made the allegorical vehicle of 
reflections concerning the state of religion. vSpenser, at this pe- 
riod, seems to have joined that party which was most zealous 
for ecclesiastical reform, and which viewed with the greatest 
displeasure the corruptions introduced by the worldly pomp and 
dominion of popery. How adverse such topics are to the sim- 
plicity and amenity of genuine pastoral, needs not now be point- 
ed out. It seems generally agreed, that the description of the 
grand and beautiful objects of nature, with well selected scenes 
of rural life, real, but not coarse, constitute the only proper ma- 
terials of pastoral poetry. To these, Spenser has made small ad- 
ditions ; and, therefore, the Shepherd's Calendar, though it ob- 
tained the applause of Sidney, and seems immediately to have 
given its author a rank among the esteemed poets of the time, 
would probably, in the progression of crjtical taste, have been 
consigned to oblivion, had it not been borne up by the fame of 
the Faery Queene. It is not, however, void of passages marked 
with the writer's peculiar strength and liveliness of painting. 
The description of the aged oak, in the mcral fable of February, 
may be pointed out as an instance of this kind; as well as the 
whole fable of the kid and wolf, under May. The rustic and 
antiquated language of the greater part of these pieces was, 
doubtless, intended to correspond with the character annexed to 
pastoral poetry ; but its simplicity is often carried to rudeness 
and vulgarity. The alliteration, which is also meant as a cha- 
racter of antiquity, will scarcely please a modern ear. 

The Faeky Queene, the inseparable companion of Spenser's 
lame, is one of the most singular poems extant in any language ; 



168 SPENSER. 

and, from the unfinished state in which we possess it, we should 
probably have found it impossible to form a clear conception of 
the author's plan in writing it, had he not, in a letter to Sir 
Walter Raleigh, prefixed to the publication of the first three 
books, given its general argument. We there learn, that his 
leading purpose — a truly noble one — was tb train a person of 
rank in "vertuous and gentle discipline,'' by exhibiting a per- 
fect example of the twelve private moral virtues, as they are 
enumerated by Aristotle. This is done in "a continued allegory 
or dark conceit," rendered more dark than the usual obscurity 
of allegorical fiction by an extraordinary involution of the plot. 
The general hero, or image of perfect excellence, is the British 
prince Arthur, so renowned in legendary history; yet each seve- 
ral book has its particular hero, whose adventures allegorically 
display the exercise of that virtue which is the proper subject of 
the book. In order, therefore, to preserve the unity of the 
whole. Prince Arthur is occasionally introduced as an auxiliary- 
of these allegorical knights in their most dangerous adventures. 
The quality peculiarly attributed to him is Magnificence, which, in 
modern language, would perhaps rather be termed Magnanimity, 
or Greatness of Soul, as being the sum and perfection of all the 
other virtues. He is enamoured in a vision with the beauty of 
the Faery Queene, and comes to seek her in Faery Land ; and 
this is the grand fable of the piece. But while the Faery Queene 
represents Glory in the general intention, she is also, in the par- 
ticular meaning, a type of Queen Elizabeth, whose dominion is 
the Faery land. Artliur, then, wooes Glory in his proper per- 
son ; and the time of the fable is represented to be that of the 
real commencement of' his history, part of which is here copied 
from GeoftVey of Mon nouth. But Queen Elizabeth, or Gloriana, 
is likewise identified !>y circumstances in her real history; and 
the great persons in her court are frequently alluded to in the 
characters of the fairj or allegorical knights. And, as if all this 
confusion were not sifiicient to perplex the reader, Spenser had 
thought proper to reserve till the twelfth or last book, the de- 
velopment of the occasion which puts all his knights in motion ; 
and which, it seenis, was to be an annual feast kept by the Faery 
Queene for twelve days ; on each of which, in conformity to the 
manners of chivalry, some distressed damsel, orphan, or other 
sufferer under injustice and oppre«;?ion, appears as a suitor for 
aid, and receives from the queen a champion. The reason given 



SPENSER 169 

by the poet for delaying this piece of information is, that he 
might imitate his epic predecessors, in breaking at once into the 
action, without the formality of a historical introduction. But 
to suffer the whole action to elapse, before the reader is made 
properly acquainted with the actors, and the cause in which they 
are engaged, is surely a violent sacrifice to a principle, the just- 
ness of which, even in a much more sober application, may be 
questioned. On commencing the Faery Queene, it is now im- 
possible, without consulting the author's prefatory epistle, to 
conceive that it is to have any other subject than the adventures 
of the Red-cross knight ; or to form any notion concerning the 
title of the poem, and the connection this imaginary Queen is to 
have with its persons and events. 

From this view of the plan of Spenser's great poem, it will 
probably appear that its merit consists rather in atforuing a 
boundless field for the range of fancy, than in that concentration 
of the interest upon some one important point, which is the es- 
sential character of the genuine epic. Were each book, indeed* 
to be regarded as a separate and complete piece, having its own 
distinct hero, this effect might be said to be in some measure pro- 
duced ; but such was not the author's intention, since he avow- 
edly aims at connecting the whole by means of his general hero. 
Prince Arthur. But this personage, who seldom appears but as 
a subordinate and auxiliary character, and in some of the books 
absolutely performs nothing, can only in the theory of the poem 
be regarded as serving this purpose ; in the practice, he is found 
to excite little either of curiosity or interest. Relinquishing, 
therefore, any further consideration of plan and design, we shall 
proceed to consider Spenser's character as an allegorical pain- 
ter, in the detached figures and groups which strike the eye in 
ranging through his gallery of pictures. In fact, detached beau- 
ties are what the mind principally dwells upon even in the most 
regular compositions ; and, after the first perusal, Orlando Fu- 
rioso and the Eneid are alike recurred to for their fine passages 
alone. 

The groundwork of all Spenser's fictions is the system of chi- 
valry, as displayed in the romances of the time, and in the prin- 
cipal productions of Italian poetry. Knights wandering in 
search of adventures, distressed ladies, giants, Saracens, savages, 
dragons, enchantments, forests,and castles,were the materials with 
which these creations of the fancy were fabricated. Some of them 
Y 



170 SPENSER. 

professed to be histories, or real narrations; but in many, "more 
v/as meant than met the ear," and moral or metaphysical ideas 
were darkly presented under the garb of visible beings. So me- 
ritorious was thought this alliance of a secret meaning with an 
obvious one, that Tasso, after he had formed a noble epic poem 
on the basis of true history, and indeed with an uncommon at- 
tention to reality in manners and characters, thought it advisa- 
ble to add a key to the whole, by which it was turned into a theo- 
logical allegory. Fortunately, this appears to have been a mere 
afterthought which had no influence upon the plan and conduct 
of the poem. Ariosto, on the other hand, who is generally a sim- 
ple narrator of adventures, given as real, however extravagant, 
occasionally intermixed fictions of pure allegory. But Spen- 
ser is throughout allegorical in his design, except as far as h( 
meant to interweave the legendary tales of ancient British his 
tory, on account of their connection with his human hero. Prince 
Arthur. All his other heroes are Virtues personified by knights 
errant ; and this uniformity of fiction would have produced a 
tiresome sameness in the action, had not the poet possessed that 
uncommon fertility of invention, and force of description, which 
are his characteristics. In all the, records of poetry, no author 
can probably be found who approaches him in the facility with 
which he embodies abstract ideas, and converts them into actors 
in his fable. It is true, he found in the extensive regions of ro- 
mance a vast variety of forms ready to assume the moral cha 
racters most appropriated to their natures ; nor was he very nice 
in the choice of these beings, or very careful to preserve consis- 
tency in their figures or employment. Yet, on the whole, he 
may be reckoned the greatest master of personification thsit ever 
existed; and more original delineations of this kind are to be 
met with in the Faery Queene, than, perhaps, in all other poems 
united. Some of these are truly excellent, and are wrought into 
scenes of wonderful power. The allegory of Despair in the first 
book, may be placed at the head of all such fictions, as well for 
just conception and skilful management, as for unrivalled 
strength of description. It seems impossible by the medium of 
words to call up visual images in the mind with more force and 
distinctness, than is done in the pictures of the knight flying 
from Despair, of Despair himself in his cave, and of the Red-cross 
knight receiving the dagger from his hands. The allegory of 
Mammon is distinguished by richness of invention, in the multi- 



SPENSER. 171 

piicity of personifications, and the romantic and sublime wild- 
ness of the scenery. The Masque of Cupid abounds in admira- 
ble single figures, though, perhaps, defective in the grouping. 
These are only a few instances out of the many striking efforts 
of imagination presented in the Faery Queene, which will ever 
render it the favourite study of those who delight in this branch 
of poetical invention. 

Of Spenser's allegorical figures it may be observed, that some 
are merely the natural representations of a human being under 
the influence of the passion or quality intended to be personified; 
some are wholly emblematical, expressing their character by 
means of types and symbols ; and in some, both these modes of 
painting are combined. Examples of the first, or natural mode, 
may be found in the picture of Fear in the Masque of Cupid (B. 
iii. c. 12.); in that of Despair already mentioned ; and in those 
oi Heavenly Contemplation (B. i. c. 10), and of Hypocrisy (B. i« 
c. 1.): — of the second, or emblematical mode, in the figure of 
Fancy in the Masque of Cupid ; and in that oi Faith (B. i. c. 10.): 
— of the third, or mixed mode, in Disdain (B. vi. c. 7.); Pride 
and her counsellors (B. i. c. 4 ) ; Care (B. iv. c. 5.); and Suspi- 
cion (B. iii. c. 12.) It may readily be conceived, that this varie- 
ty of delineation will produce occasional inconsistencies; that 
action and passion will often be confounded ; and that the man- 
ner in which these fancy-formed beings are employed, will fre- 
quently be unsuitable to their nature. These are defects from 
which complex and continued allegory can never be free. To 
create a new system of things, is too great an effort of the ima- 
gination to be long and uniformly supported ; and Spenser, as 
the most copious of allegorists, is perhaps the most exuberant in 
faults. His forms are often grotesque and disgusting, sometimes 
impossible ; and he not unfrequently makes a breach in the per- 
sonification, by intermixing the ideas of reality with those of fic- 
tion. In a critical commentary it might be proper to point out 
all these imperfections ; but in a preliminary- essay it is sufficient 
to apprise the reader of taste that they exist, and leave the de- 
tection of them to his own attentive research. He will find them 
exemplified not only in Spenser, but in every other writer who 
has ventured far into the perilous regions of allegory. 

Though there is a large fund of original matter in the Faery 
Queene, there is also much imitation, and even translation. Va- 
rious passages from the classics, and still more from the Italian 



\T2 tSFENSKK. 

poets, are closely copied. The stores oiaiKient mytholooy arc 
freely ransacked ; nor is Spenser more careful than his Italian 
masters in avoiding the incongruity of mixing heathen with chris- 
tian ideas. To confess the truth, he wrote too much, to write 
with uniform attention and judgment. His plan was vast ; and 
to fill it up, required great industry as well as invention. He 
could not afford to be nice in selection ; and, like all other com- 
posers of very long poems, he was obliged to be contented with 
such matter as occurred, rather than with such as he would de- 
liberately have approved. Most readers will think he too much 
abounds in prolix descriptions of single combats, which he found 
ready drawn to his hand in Bojardo, Ariosto, and Tasso. In- 
deed, his device of making all the virtues knights errant, neces- 
sarily renders their contests with the opposite vices, so many 
battles. 

The form of stanza he adopted (to proceed to the subject of 
versification) favoured redundancy of style ; and that, not merely 
in words, but in ideas. Dryden observes of himself, that a rhyme 
often helped him to a thought. Spenser's verse, requiring in each 
stanza four and three similar rhyming terminations, put him upon 
a perpetual effort to bring in words of a certain sound, however 
unconnected in their meaning with the current subject. This 
gave rise to distant associations, which sometimes produced 
images that really enriched the diction ; though more frequently 
it flattened and debased it by impertinent additions. It like- 
wise often compelled the poet to employ expedients that indicate 
the cruelty of the yoke to which he had injudiciously subjected 
himself. Expletives, tautologies, and circumlocutions, occur in 
almost every stanza, and gross improprieties of speech are but 
too frequent. Vulgar and obsolete words are often mixed with 
those of a higher order; and when all these licenses fail in pro- 
ducing the requisite tale of rhyme, the writer does not scruple 
to mis-spell words, and to satisfy the eye at the expense of the 
ear. Yet the stanza of Spenser, when well executed, has a ful- 
ness of melody, and a sonorous majesty, scarcely equalled by any 
other English measure ; and some lat^r poets, who have bestow- 
ed due pains upon their versification, have copied it with great 
success. The concluding Alexandrine, which Spenser added to 
the eight-line stanza of the Italians, produces a fine effect when 
it accords with the subject; but in a long piece such a coinci- 
dence must frequently be w^anting. Every elaborate measure. 




SPENSER. irr, 

indeed, has the inconvenience of being ill adapted to the variety 
of epic composition. It, with difficulty, admits of quick changes 
and rapid movements, and is apt to produce languor and pro- 
lixity. Its frequent recurrence tires tlie ear ; and its marked 
closes check the flow of eloquence. It has therefore been with 
true judgment that the best modern heroic poets have deserted 
the forms of versification which prevailed at the first revival of 
letters, and have recurred to the simpler models of Greece and 
Rome. 

The language of the Faery Queene is cast in a more antique 
mould than that of the age in which the writer lived. Spenser 
doubtless thought thereby to throw round his work a venerable 
air which suited the sober morality of the design, and the an- 
tiquity of the manners represented in its action. Many of the 
words and phrases, too, which even in his day had become obso- 
lete, possessed a peculiar strength and vigour which happily coin- 
cided with his own very forcible style of description. It may 
be added, that, as we have already hinted, by the free employ- 
ment of words of different ages, he often found means to extri- 
cate himself from the difficulties imposed by his system of 
rhymes. On the whole, however, it is probably best for a writer 
to confine himself to the current language of his time, and bend 
liis efforts to give it all the perfection of which it is susceptible. 
In aiming at an antique diction, he will never do more than make 
a heterogeneous mixture, which is the real language of no one 
period, and must often appear quaint and affected, rather than 
simple and nervous. The English of Edward III. was too far 
distant from that of Elizabeth to admit of an easy combination ; 
and as Spenser could not avoid making the substance of his style 
of the staple of his own age, the intermingled threads of Chaucer 
show like spots and stains, rather than agreeable variegations. 
The effect of his system of language has been, that the Faerj 
Queene cannot safely be quoted as authority for tlie proper use 
of worils ; and that while it is not intelligible to the common 
reader without a glossary, it affords an uncertain light to the ver- 
bal researches of the antiquarian critic. 

What has been said may serve as a general introduction to 
the perusal of this work, which, with all its defects, will ever be 
considt-rt'd as one of the capital productions of English poetry, 
and as conferring high honour on the writer and his country. It 
will probably not often be read through; nor will many think it 



174 iSPENSER. 

worth wliile to bestow much study on its plan, or on the particu 
lar signification of all its mysteries and historical allusions. But 
detached parts will continue to give pleasure after repeated pe- 
rusals; and the whole will be valued as a rich store-house of 
invention, resembling some of the remaining edifices of that age. 
which still astonish by their magnificent profusion of varied, 
though partly fantastic, ornament. 

The other poems of Spenser do not require much discussion, 
though considerable in quantity, and various in subject. It is to 
be feared that the leading impression they will make upon a mo- 
dern reader will be that t)f tediousness ; a fault from which few 
productions of the early age of English poetry are free. Yet 
some of these pieces are written in an elevated strain of thought, 
and exhibit a polish of language and versification which would 
scarcely be expected from tliat period. The Hymns to Love and 
Beauty contain many lines that may gratify the nicest ear ; and 
their philosophical and doctrinal learning probably excited great 
admiration at the time when they were published. The Sonnets 
might have a claim to please those who could taste the studied 
conceits and far-fetched sentiments of Petrarch. The Epitha- 
lamion, composed for his own marriage, possesses feeling as well 
as fancy, and wants only judicious curtailment to make it a very 
pleasing piece. The Tears of the Muses kv^ eloquent complaints, 
but somewhat too monotonous. They assert with dignity the 
merits of literature ; but it may be supposed, that, like all other 
censurers of their age, the poet exaggerates in his declamations 
on the discouragements to which learning was subjected in a 
reign which we are taught to consider as peculiarly favourable to 
it. Daphnaida is an elegy of most unreasonable length on a per- 
son never heard of; and the pastoral strains in which Sir Philip 
Sidney is lamented, excite much less sympathy, than the simple 
prose narration of his heroic death. The most remarkable cir- 
cumstance in this piece is a kind of appendix, written in lines of -J 
three iambic feet witliout rhyme ; a form of verse of which I know 
not another instance. The Ruins of Time is a fine idea, inade- 
quately executed. The Roman colony of Verulam was never of 
consequence enough to be selected as the leading example of 
change of fortune; and the adulatory lamentation of the death of 
a private nobleman is unworthy of the high theme of the poem. 
In the scenery of this piece, Spenser has adopted the ancient no- 
tion that the Thames once ran by Verulam ; an improbable fable. 



SPENSER. 175 

by which more is lost in point of reality, than is gained in de- 
scription. The pieces entitled Colin ClouCs come home again 
and Mother Hubbard's Tale, refer to character's and events in 
the court-history of the time, which it would be difficult now to 
elucidate, should any commentator think the task worth attempt- 
ing ; but they were probably interesting to contemporary read- 
ers. The lines already quoted from the latter, describing the 
miseries of a courtier, yield to few in the language for energy of 
feeling and nervous brevity of expression. 



AN ESSAY 

ON 

THE POETRY OF 



AMONG the names rendered illustrious by intellectual supe- 
riority, of which this island justly boasts, a few stand so conspic- 
uously prominent, that they immediately occur to every native 
whose theme is the glory of his country. Of these, the votaries 
of science are, perhaps, enumerated with most confidence, be- 
cause their merits have been equally recognised by foreign na- 
tions, and their fame has even been reflected back with addi- 
tional lustre to their own. In every part of civilised Europe, 
Bacon and Newton are placed in the first rank of human genius. 
But the celebrity of men distinguished in the literature of their 
their country, must not only be originally of home-growth, but 
must ever have its principal seat at home, as being there alone 
duly estimated and fully understood. There indeed, it may rise 
to as great a height as that of the preceding class, and may even 
excite more general and enthusiastic admiration. Few English- 
men will now make it a question whether Milton be entitled to 
march in an equal rank with the two philosophers above men- 
tioned ; and scarcely any, it is presumed, who have a true relish 
of English poetry, will assign to him a second place among his 
poetical brethren. That his fame has been continually growing, 
and has only within a late period attained its full magnitude, 
ought to be regarded as a proof of the solidity of its foundation. 
How might he triumph, could he now behold those who were once 
his rivals, and even his imagined superiors, fallen far, far be- 
neath him ; and his own memory decorated with all the honours 
which national pride and attachment can bestow ! To trace the 
progress of such a man, and ascertain that peculiarity of excel- 
lence which has placed him on such an eminence, cannot but be 



MILTON. \77 

a highly interesting exercise. At the same time, the task is ar- 
duous. I feel it to be such, and engage in it with awe. If it be 
true, as D'Alembert has said, that no one is fit to estimate a great 
man, who does not himself belong to the class, how few should 
venture to sit in judgment on Milton ! But I pretend only to 
give the opinion of a humble individual, whose chief claims are 
impartiality, and long meditation on the works he means to ex- 
amine. The chronological order in which I propose to survey 
them, can scarcely fail of suggesting some striking comparisons 
of the author with himself at different periods of his life, and of 
exhibiting that spectacle of the gradual disclosure and growth of 
genius, which is one of the most captivating to a philosophical 
inquirer. 

From early youth, Milton seems to have been characterised by 
a lofty and elevated mind. Educated in a distinguished seat of 
learning, and deeply imbued with the classical literature which 
at that period, perhaps, was studied with more ardour than it has 
ever been since, he soared to no common height in his juvenile 
exercises, and attained an excellence in Latin poetry which is a 
topic of admiration to his biographers. The intrinsic value of 
his performances in this class has, indeed, been differently esti- 
mated ; but it is certain tiiat they bespeak an imagination fed 
with no trivial or vulgar ideas, and a soul big with high reso'ves, 
and the anticipation of future fame. Various passages in his 
Latin poems have been adduced as denoting the seeds of great 
designs which then lurked in his mind ; but none are more striking 
than the following lines of an address in English verse "(o his 
Native Language," delivered at a college exercise, when he was 
nineteen years old : 

Yet 1 had ratlier, if I were to chuse, 

Thy <-ervice in some graver subjt-ct use, 

■'uch ;is may mak;- thi-e s> arcii ihy coffers round, 

Bi forf thou clotlie my fancy in fit sontiil : 

Such tthert- the dfep-lransported mind may sofir 

Abov. the wheelin.c poles, ai'd at Hoav'n'sdoor 

Look in, and see each blissful deity 

How he before the thund'rous throne doth lie. 

These strains plainly indicate the future bard whose " Muse 
with angels did divide to sins;." 

Though years before this period he had preluded in English 
poetry, with some sweet though juvenile verses " On the death 
Z 



178 MILTON. 

of a fair infant dying of a cough," wliich deserve mention in In 
poetical progress, as, both from the style and the measure, the} 
show him to have been an early student of Spenser, and prove 
that he was capable of attaining all those graces of versification 
in rhymed stanzas, which had been reached by that master. 

A very singular composition in his twenty-first year displayed 
at the same time the grandeur of his genius, and the immaturity 
of his judgment. It was a Hymn on the Nativity, the greater 
part of which is replete with the puerile and unnatural conceit 
of Donne, and other early English poets ; — a school which last- 
ingly perverted Cowley, though a genius worthy of better things ; 
but from the baneful influence of which Milton at length broke 
loose, like his own Lion at the creation from the incumbent soil. 
That he possessed the power of thus redeeming himself, might 
be concluded from several stanzas of this very piece, invvhich he 
describes the supposed desertion of the heathen oracles by their 
inspiring deities, not only with exquisite learning, but with a 
warmth and purity of painting which he himself scarcely ever 
surpassed. 

Retired to private study, another school of poetry seems to 
have engaged much of his attention. This was the Italian, at 
that time beyond comparison the first among the moderns, and, 
indeed, already the school of Spenser and other English writers 
of celebrity. The wildness of fancy, united with dignity of sen- 
timent and suavity of expression, which characterised the mas- 
ters in this school, could not fail of captivating such a mind as 
that of Milton ; accordingly, strong traces of the impressions he 
received from the poets of Italy are discernible even in his great- 
est and most mature performances. 

No poet, then, ever came to the practice of his art more re 
plenished with stores accumulated from the richest productionL 
of various ages and countries. So copious, indeed, were these 
materials, that a genius less vigorous would have been in danger 
of being overwhelmed by them, and of exchanging all originality, 
for imitation or allusion. Nor can it be denied that his learning 
is sometimes obtrusive ; yet its effect is rather to suggest ideas 
derived from memory, as from a general stock, than to render 
him a copyist of particular passages. In this respect a striking 
difference appears between his manner and that of Tasso, who, 
inventive as he is in the plan and many of the incidents of his 
great work, scruples not to introduce long and direct transla- 



MILTON. 179 

lions from Virgil and other poets. This originality of imitation 
in Milton becomes peculiarly conspicuous on a criticul examina- 
tion of his similes. In most of these he may be detected taking 
a hint from Homer or some other ancient ; but he has made it 
so much his own, both by added circumstances in the descrip- 
tion, and by novelty in the application, that his merit of inven- 
tion is little less than if the whole idea had been primarily of his 
own growth. In Milton's mind, all images and impressions, whe- 
ther received from nature or art, from reading or observation, 
seem to have been so blended and amalgamated, so much con- 
verted into the proper aliment of the intellect, that their tran- 
scripts in his writings take a kind of homogeneous form, and 
what might appear study in another man, in him is spontaneous 
effusion. 

He was twenty-six years old when he produced his Mask of 
CoMus, a composition sufficient of itself to raise its author to 
such a height of reputation, that one greater in extent, rather 
than in excellence, was alone wanting to place him at the sum- 
mit of English poetry. Its story, indeed, is simple ; its leading 
idea founded upon ancient mythology; and its conduct and cha- 
racter undramatic, if to a drama it be essential to interest the 
passions, and give a natural representation of human action and 
sentiment. But they who have made these objections to it, have 
not, perhaps, enougli considered, that the Mask, then a favourite 
entertainment of a learned age, was regarded as a peculiar 
species of composition, the nature of which was rather poetical 
than dramatic, and which sought rather to amuse the fancy with 
allegorical and mythological fictions, and to elevate the soul with 
lofty conceptions, than to present scenes of common life. In this 
view, what work ever fulfilled its purpose more than Comus ? 
Where, in «/??/ language, can be found such an union of rich des- 
cription, grand and beautiful imagery, and lofty philosophy, ex- 
pressed in the noblest diction ? How admirable the contrast be- 
tween the loose morals and seductive painting of the son of 
Circe, and the virgin purity and severe principles of the Lady ! 
and how carefully has the poet secured the final impression in 
favour of virtue, not only by the catastrophe, but by the weight 
of argument, conformably to his own character and the sobriety 
of the age — an impression too little consulted in the modern al- 
teration of Comus ! This poem likewise possesses great beauty 
of versification, varying from the lightest and gayest anacreon- 



180 MILTON. 

tics, to the most majestic and sonorous heroics. On the whole, 
if an exaniple were required of a work made up of tlie very es- 
sence of poetry, perhaps none of equal length in any latiguage 
could be produced answering this character in so high a degree 
as the jVlask of Comus. Its unfitness for a public stage will be 
deemed a small objection by one who attributes this unfitness 
chiefly to its /mrity and its poetry. Were it again to be repre- 
sented on a nobleman's private theatre, a presage might be 
drawn of the improving taste and morals of the age, which mo- 
dern theatricals (as they are called) are very far from affording. 

The ideas in this piece are for the most part derived from 
classical sources. The mythology is originally Grecian ; the 
philosophy is that of Plato ; but it has been justly remarked that 
in the language and imagery there are various imitations of Eng- 
lish joeis. Those of Fletcher's " Faithful Shepherdess" are the 
most conspicuous ; and Spenser and Shakespear may be traced 
in particular passages. Some critics have, indeed, asserted that 
Comus is written " in Shakespear's manner." I confess, I can- 
not discern the resemblance, unless it be in the flow of versifica- 
tion, which has the ease and freedom of that poet's best speci- 
mens. In other respects, the strain of poetry is of a more elevated 
and finished kind than is to be paralleled in Shakespear, except 
in some short passages. Some peurile conceits are to be found 
in this fine performance : but they are so few, that on comparing 
the author with himself at the time of writing his Christmas hymn, 
he will appear to have improved in judgment no less than in the 
compass, of his poetical powers. 

The Allegro and Penseroso appeared shortly after Comus. 
These are, perhaps, the most popular poems in the English lan- 
guage, and have had the greatest number of imitators. The live- 
liness, truth, and variety of their imagery accommodate them to 
the taste of all readers ; while the loftier strains to which they 
sometimes ascend, distinguish them from common descriptive 
poelry, and administer delight to more select judges. 1 do not 
find that Milton has been a borrower in the plan of these pieces, 
whioh are exact counterparts to each other, and form two com- 
pletes pictures. In the Allegro, or Cheerful Man, all the images 
are assembled that are capable of exciting joy a'ld pleasure; and 
with such felicity are they displayed, that I believe no one ever 
read it without feeling a temporary exhilaration of soul, like 
that from an agreeable prospect, or a lively strain of music. 



MILTON. 181 

II Fenseroso, or the Thoughtful Contemplative Man, preseiitvS, on 
the contrary, all the images that are adapted to excite, not a 
black or gloomy melancholy, (which appears to have been the 
conception of some of its imitators,) but a sublime seriousness, 
favourable to high fancy and philosophic musing, and in its turn 
not less grateful to the mind than the former emotion. If, then, 
the pieces are regarded as opposites, they are so, like day and 
night, which succeed alternately in the same harmonious sys- 
tem, and gradually shade off into each other. Indeed, the dif- 
ferences presented by the diurnal and noclurnal face of things 
constitute much of the distinct character of the two pieces ; the 
first of which opens with early dawn, and pursues the course of 
the sun, while the second commences with evening, and contin- 
ues till day-break. Both shift the scene from country to town; 
and in the latter, some of their objects are similar, for the pomp 
and pageantry of the theatre is introduced into each. In the 
Allegro, however, the dramatic entertainments are masks and 
comedies; and it is remarkable, that in conjunction with Jonson, 
as a comic writer, the poet mentions Shakespear, characterising 
him as a " child of fancy, warbling his native wood notes ;" and 
thus manifestly alluding to his creations of the imagination, such 
as the Tempest, the Midsummer Night's Dream, and the Win- 
ter's Tale ; and passing over his more serious compositions. And 
when, in the Penseroso, "gorgeous Tragedy" makes its appear- 
ance on the scene, its subjects are represented to be those of the 
ancient Greek tragic theatre, of which Milton was an assiduous 
student. He hints, it is true, at some modern attempts in this 
species of the drama, but terms them "rare," and particularises 
neither the works nor the authors. 

It is further observable in these two pieces, that while the 
personification with which each commences is founded upon 
classic mythology, some of the most striking imagery in the body 
of the poems is derived from those gothic fables and popular 
superstitions with which he had stored his imagination. Both 
pieces terminate with the power of music, to which, numerous 
passages in his works show him to have been uncommonly sensi- 
ble. Since musical expression adapts itself to a variety of emo- 
tions, there is no incongruity in thus making both his contrast- 
ed characters lovers of harmony. Yet if Jessica in Shakespear 
says rightly 

I'm never merry when I hear sweet music, 



3 82 MILTON. 

which I conceive to be founded on just observation, perhaps, the 
" Lydian airs," the " linked sweetness long drawn out," and the 
"melting voice," are somewhat misplaced as the delights of 
Blirth, though they might well belong to Pleasure. The true 
music of Mirth is, indeed, introduced before, in the " merry 
bells," and "jocund rebecs;" and it is admirably echoed in the 
light tripping versification of the lines describing the scenes of 
rural jollity. So happily adapted, indeed, is the measure ot 
L' Allegro to its subject, that we may almost lament that the uni- 
formity of contrast obliged the poet to make use of the sanve in 
the Penseroso. Yet, either from the impression made on the 
mind by the imagery, or from the poet's art in the choice ot 
words, the ear does not seem, on reading the latter piece, to re- 
quire a verse more concordant with the subject. Milton has 
generally been represented as not very successful in his manage- 
ment of rhyme ; yet I think the English language does not aflford 
many better specimens of the kind than the two pieces before 
us; in which, though the frequent recurrence of the rhyme has 
sometimes given rise to a constrained or unmeaning expression, 
the general flow is easy and natural, and the coincidences of 
sound and sense are sometimes extremely happy. 

Another production of nearly the same period of Milton's life 
is his Lycidas, a monody on the death of a friend. This is a 
piece of a singular cast and character, and rather adapted to the 
artificial taste of the academic, than the natural relish of a com- 
mon reader. Indeed, though it contains much exquisite poetry, 
which could only have been produced by a genius of the first 
class, it is liable, as a whole, to many solid objections. The use 
of pastoral allegory, if to be justified by example, had at that 
time the practice of all the most eminent poets in its favour. 
Every occurrence, joyful or sad, on which verse could be* de- 
manded, was habitually represented under the mask of rural life, 
and all the dramatis personse were converted into shepherds and 
shepherdesses. Sympathy (as Dr. Johnson has well observed) 
was almost entirely precluded by this abolition of reality; and 
besides the tiresome uniformity of the fiction, the pastoral im- 
agery could only admit of a very strained and awkward appli- 
cation to the circumstances of courtly and refined society. In 
one profession, indeed, the allegorical resemblance was favoured 
by common language, and the religious pastor had long been in 
possession of the character and insignia belonging to a shepherd 



MILTON. 183 

of the flock committed to his charge. It had been found a task 
of little difficulty to run parallels of considerable length and 
minuteness between the metaphorical pastoral office, and the 
real one. Spenser had done this in his " Shepherd's Calendar," 
though with more perseverance than felicity. Under tliis dis- 
guise, he had spoken more freely than he would probably have 
otherwise done, against the corruptions of the church. This 
was an example whicli Milton would be prompt to imitate, for 
one of his earliest passions appears to have been zeal for eccle- 
siastical reform. It is not unlikely, therefore, that the opportu- 
nity of uttering bold truths on a delicate and hazardous topic, 
was a principal inducement with him to adopt the pastoral form 
on the present occasion. He was, moreover, in this poem to sup- 
port his reputation as a scholar, and a member of the university 
of Cambridge, which printed a collection of funereal verses to the 
'memory of the same unfortunate youth, among which Lycidas 
"first appcarcil. It should be added, that Milton's friendship with 
the deceased was of the most intimate and affectionate kind ; 
whence real feeling was likely to struggle for expression amid 
the conceits of poetical fiction. This combination of views and 
circumstances will account for most of the peculiarities of the 
performance. Its measure is loose and irregular, well suiting 
the character of rusticity affixed to the poem, and favourable to 
the sudden bursts of passion by which it is animated. The ear 
is occasionally disappointed by missing the expected i-eturn of 
rhyme; yet the general effect is pleasing, and the melody of some 
of the passages is uncommonly grateful. The form of verse 
seems borrowed from some of the free strains of Italian poetry, 
in which Milton was not only a student, but a composer. With 
respect to the matter, it abounds in classical imitation, as well 
in the particular images, as in the general style and ordonnancc. 
Its basis is Virgil's eclogue or elegy of " Gallus ;" and Theocri- 
tus and other Grecian poets have contributed to its learned de- 
corations. The allegorical part, however, is derived from a to- 
tally different source ; and no judicious critic will defend the 
incongruous mixture of heathen and christian mythology, which 
has sprung from tlie author's double purpose, of displaying his 
erudition, and taking a part in the theological contentions of the 
time. Nor can it be denied that the learniiigof the piece some- 
times approaches to pedantry, and has too much the air of aca- 
demic ostentation. The construction of some of the sentences 



184 MILTON. 

is likewise harsh and obscure ; and the expression of grief is oc- 
casionally too playful and artificial to excite sympathy. Yet 
thes(> faults are compensated by numerous beauties of thought 
and language; and perhaps no composition of this author more 
clearly indicates the poet, than his Lycidas. 

Soon after the printing of this piece, Milton visited France 
and Italy; and the view and society of the latter country, then 
the favourite seat of the Muses, may well be supposed to have 
fed his poetic enthusiasm ; especially, as a patron of the great 
Tasso, Manso marquis of Villa, honoured him with his noiice and 
praises. His vein of Latin poetry does, indeed, appear to have 
been refreshed by his travels ; and Manso, Diodati, and other 
foreign friends, were celebrated in new and elejjunt strains : but 
as an English p<»et his voice was doomed to suft'era long suspen- 
sion, which might seem to preclude all hopes of its revival- On 
his return to his native country, first the engagements of a private 
academy, comprising a very extensive plan of education ; then, 
a long and active course of controversy, religious and political ; 
and finally, the office of Latin secretary for state^fFairs, so much 
occupied his time and thoughts, that the gentler Muses were de- 
terred from paying their usual visits. During this long period, 
scarcely any thing tell from his pen worthy the name of poetry, 
except a few sonnets, written upon incidental topics. In this 
elaborate species of composition, ill suited to our language and 
genius, Milton can by no means be reckoned a master. Few of 
his sonnets exhibit much poetical spirit; none much elegance of 
versification. Some of them may aftord pleasure by their manly 
cast of thought and vigour of expression ; but, on the whole, they 
contribute nothing to his fame as a poet. 

About his 50th year he had the misfortune totally to lose his 
sight, which had been long in a progress of decay. Of this ca- 
lamity he felt the full force, as he has ev'nced by several pathe- 
tic passages in his later works. But though he complains that 
"wisdom was at one inlet quite shut out," it is not probable that 
his store of poetical imagery incurred any considerable diminu- 
tion from his loss. He had made a poet's use of his eyes while 
he possessed them ; and he had long enough enjoyed the sense 
of seeing to be indelibly impressed with all the ideas of beauty 
and grandeur which it is capable of affording. Not long after- 
wards, fhe great national change produced by the Restiiration 
exposed him to personal danger, and for ever blasted all the hopes 



MILTON. 185 

he might have entertained of au easy and honoured old a2:e. He was 
indeed, suffered to live quietly, but it was in obscurity and discoun- 
tejiauce : — how well deserved, is not here the question ; but this 
darkness and desolation, these "evil days," as he thought them, 
were probably the efficient cause of the Paradise Lost ! He re- 
nounced the design ofpursuing those tales of chivalry and romance, 
those heroical, but iiuman topics which had onceoccupied his poetic 
meditati«»ns ; and he sought his theme, as he did his consolation, 
in those scriptures which had always been a principal object of 
his study. 

Chiof 

Thee, Slon, and I lit flovvt-i-y brooks benesith. 
That wash thy liallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nishil) I visit, P. L. in. 29. 

It was the divine Urania who now cheered his solitude; and 
under her inspiration he was satisfied with the consciousness of 
a more than mortal flight, and with the intelligent applause of an 
"audience fit, though few." This was tlie happiest mood for one 
who was to undertake a performance so great, so novel, so re- 
mote from common tastes and examples ; for one who was to re- 
sign temporary popularity, in order to make future ages his own. 

The number of epic poems which have obtained general and 
lasting fame is so small, that each is susceptible of being dis- 
tinctly characterised. The Paradise Lost is essentially a theo- 
logical poem. Its subject, properly speaking, is not merely that 
announced in the opening — "Man's first disobedience, and the 
fruit of the forbidden tree" — but the whole celestial economy, 
and that train of events which produced the creation of this 
world, together with the contest between divine benevolence and 
diabolical malignity in fixing the condition of its inhabitants 
The disobedience of man is, indeed, the great incident which the 
machinery is employed to bring into effect, and which influences 
all the after-events of the piece ; but the cause of that disobe- 
dience is deeply laid in occurrences long anterior and of higher 
importance, involving the fate and actions of beings infinitely 
superior to the human. It is in this part alone that Milton ap- 
pears as an inventor ^ for his deference to the authority of the 
sacred writings has restrained him, in relating the history or al- 
legory of the fall of man, from making any considerable addi- 
tions to the original narration. It is, therefore, a peculiarity of 
this poem, that what in others is called the machinery, and is nf> 
A a 



186 MILTON. 

more than an ornamental adjunct, or, at most, an occasional aux 
iliary, is, in this, the main subject. For although the fate of the 
human personages is the point on which the interest is concen- 
trated, the agents in its determination are superhuman beings, on 
whom all the proper action of the fable depends, and whose pow- 
ers and characters are the principal objects of the reader's cu- 
riosity. 

But since it is impossible for a man to form any idea of moral 
or intellectual qualities which is not primarily derived from hu- 
man nature, these beings of poetical creation must, after all, be 
essentially men ; and their discriminating characters can be no 
other than compounds of such qualities as we see existing among 
ourselves, exalted, perhaps, in degree, but substantially the same. 
To the best and most perfect of beings we can assign only suck 
virtue and such wisdom as our experience of mankind has brought 
to our acquaintance; and we can give no other features of vice 
and depravity to the worst, than such as we have viewed in our 
fellow-creatures. Further, even the external figures of beauty 
and deformity in our imaginations, must be mere transcripts of 
pictures already formed by our senses. We can compound dif- 
ferently from what nature has done ; we can aggrandise and di- 
minish ; but we can form no truly original conceptions. And as 
the strongest impressions, both agreeable and disgusting, have 
been made upon us by beings in the human shape, there is no 
other which we can so happily associate with moral character. 

All poets, therefore, from Homer to his latest successors, who 
have intermixed machinery with their fables, have done no more 
than superinduce a set of agents really human, though distin- 
guished by a different local residence, and by the possession of 
powers and attributes which in man would be called supernatu- 
ral. The grossness of the heathen mythology even caused the 
celestial personages to fall below the human, in all that consti- 
tutes real dignity of nature. The divinities of Homer and Virgil 
are distinguished by nothing so much as bad passions, and an in- 
satiable appetite for doing mischief; and the heroes of those poets- 
are much more estimable than the gods. Milton's system, as it 
was infinitely superior to theirs in a moral view, so it was more 
favourable to poetical effect. By dividing his spiritual beings into 
the too great classes of good and bad, he was able to keep their 
character and agency perfectly distinct, and to exhibit opposite 
moral qualities in all their strength and purity. At the same 



MILTON. U7 

time, by assigning to each class a community of natural powers, 
he produced that kind of balance which was requisite to throw 
any interest upon scenes in which they should be opposed to 
each other. A difficulty however occurred, which it was impos- 
sible entirely to surmount, and which, in fact, forms the chief de- 
fect of the plan of Paradise Lost. The transcendent excellence 
of the Supreme Being in the Jewish and Christian systems, to 
which Milton has most religiously adhered, places him so much 
beyond all parallel in respect to power and dignity, and renders 
him so indubitably the master of all events, that the ambiguity 
of success which might be preserved in a mere contention be- 
tween angelic beings, similar in power, though opposite in cha-» 
racter, is entirely destroyed, when the good ^re represented as 
the immediate delegates and ministers of the Deity, and aided 
by his resistless might. Homer could make even Jupiter him- 
self subject to the decrees of Fate ; but the God of xMilton is the 
creator of fate, the original planner and sovereign disposer of 
every occurrence. It is not, however, the philosophical difficul- 
ty of an intermixture of evil in a world created by infinite power 
and infinite goodness, which joecw/iar/y presses upon our poet; 
but it is the contest which he imagines between the partisans 
and the adversaries of the Supreme Being. The latter of these, 
though in their pristine state admitted to a direct view and com- 
prehension of the divine majesty, must yet be supposed to have 
entertained the absurd idea of effectual resistance to his will; 
while the former, firm in their faith, and confident in the match; 
less power of their great Lord, have no room left for the exer- 
tion of those virtues which most inspire esteem and admiration. 
Hence, although the original revolt of Satan and his party is an 
act of madness, for which an adequate motive can scarcely be 
conceived, yet in the subsequent transactions, evevy display of 
the qualities which can be termed heroical necessarily belong to 
them. Courage to dare, fortitude to endure, perseverance and 
self devotion in the chief, tried fidelity in the followers, are only 
to be found among those who contend under circumstances of 
known danger and difficulty, and struggle with misfortune and 
discomfiture. The Son, moving on to sure victory, armed with 
all the terrors of his Father's majesty, is indeed a most awful 
and sublime figure; but Satan, taking upon himself an enterprise 
full of toil and hazard, which had made the boldest of his chiefs 
to shudder, and regarding his exalted station only as a call to 



188 MILTON. 

i)io-her exertions for the general advantage, is a real hero. Nov 
can we withhold a sentiment of applause and sympathy for that 
fallen host which 

— — — — — faitliful stooil 
Tl)eir glory withi I'M ; 

and in the midst of " fierce pains," prided themselves in obe- 
dience to their great leader. 

It must then, I think, be allowed that Paradise Lost really 
labours under the defect whicli has been charged upon it, that of 
engaging the high passions at the commencement of the poem in 
favour of the cause it is meant to condemn. Yel the art of the 
poet in counteracting this impression, by assigning a perpetual 
superiority in point of sanctity and purity of sentiment to the 
angelic host, and making the devils themselves depose, as it 
were, in testimony of the justice as well as the power of that 
Being against whom they have revolted, is eminently conspicu- 
ous. It may be added, that in proportion as the fate of the hu- 
man persons of the fable becomes more interesting, the diaboli- 
cal machinations against them excite more detestation ; and that 
Satan and his crew at length lose all their grandeur, and sink 
into equal contempt and abhorence. It is true, this change is 
the cause that the latter books fall extremely short of the earlier 
in sublimity ; and that the reader's interest, which undoubtedly 
at the commencement is placed upon the contest in heaven, is 
finally transferred to a totally different scene, and to new 
actors. 

The field in which the imagination of Milton freely expatiates 
is the extra-mundane system, the regions of heaven, hell, and 
chaos. In describing and peopling these scenes, he has display- 
ed a force and sublimity of conception which no poet has ever 
equalled. He has expanded our ideas to the utmost limits of 
possibility; and has filled the fancy with things new and strange, 
many of which, painted by an inferior artist, would have formed 
only grotesques, but under the touch of his genius become pic- 
tures of unparalleled grandeur. It cannot, however, he affirmed 
that his success is every where alike ; for while his view of the 
infernal mansions, his council in Pandemonium, and his Satanic 
voyage, are replete with the true sublime in imagery and senti- 
ment, his battle between the faithful and the i^volted angels is 
puerile and full of inconsistencies. Scenes of combat are grand 



MILTON. 189 

in human actionj because thej call forth exertions of the soul, 
which, however mischievous in their eifects, we cannot help ad- 
miring; but, transferred to immortal and nearly impassive be- 
ings, thej become mere child's play. They resemble those en- 
gagements of Italian mercenaries in complete armour, in which, 
after half a day's fighting, scarcely any other mischief was done, 
than unhorsing some of the combatants, and trampling them in 
the dirt. That the sixth book of Paradise Lost should have 
beetj the subject of so much admiration, must be attributed to an 
artificial taste formed by the works of Homer and his imitators, 
which gave to deeds of arms the first place among the splendid 
-incidents of epic poetry. Yet there are in it many detached 
passages of great excellence, and the diction is highly animated 
and poetical. 

If the sublimity of Milton's genius is chiefly displayed in his 
flight to regions beyond human ken, its elegance and beauty are 
most conspicuous where he descends to earth, and paints the first 
pair of mankind in that delicious Paradise which was the happy 
abode of their innocence. Nothing can be more admirable than the 
art with which he has allied all the tender softness and even the 
voluptuousness of the Italian school, with the purity and sanc- 
tity of a religious record. Descriptions so charming to the sense 
were never before joined to sentiments so dignifying to the soul. 
It must, however, be observed, that the features of character he 
has given to Adam and Eve do not altogether accord with that 
simplicity which might be expected in beings newly created, and 
whose minds must be totally unpractised in abstract reasoning 
and reflection. Adam, in particular, exhibits a fund of moral 
wisdom which in him could not possibly be the acquisition of 
experience; and the manner in which he is aft'ected with what 
he beholds in reality or vision, is by no means that of one who 
views objects for the first time. This prematurity of understand- 
ing, however, seems in a certain degree necessary in order to 
render them actors in the scenes in which they are engaged; in- 
deed, tiie very use of speech in them supposes a faculty acquired 
difterently from the common mode of practice and instruction. 
The Rabbins have assigned to the first man perfect knowledge 
of all arts and sciences. Milton has been contented with repre- 
senting him as possessed of strong sense and ready apprehen- 
sion ; and though, philosophically speaking, there may be as muck 
error iti his conception of the character, as in that of the Rab- 



190 MILTON. 

bins, yet he will scarcely be found to have exceeded the license 
"which the construction of his fable demanded. As the scriptural 
account of the temptation and fall, to which Milton has literally 
adhered, was not sufficient to fill up the measure of an epic 
poem, he has enlarged the field of human action, by a proleptical 
view of the leading events which were to attend the descendants 
of Adam, communicated in vision or narration through the min- 
istry of the angel Michael. For this kind of anticipation he had 
an example and authority in the practice of several of his pre- 
decessors ; and he has employed it with the happiest effect. The 
pictures of peace and war, of the deluge, and of the patriarchal 
life, are scarcely to be surpassed by any scenes of descriptive, 
poetry, and they contribute to sustain the interest of the piece, 
which, after the great catastrophe of the fall, would otherwise be 
apt to languish. For though Milton seems to have considered the 
purely theological part ot his work as the most important, and 
to have expected that his elaborate argumentations concerning 
free-will, grace, justification, atonement, and the like, would 
engage the attention of the religious reader, it may safely be 
affirmed that Paradise Lost would long ago have been consigned 
to oblivion, had these been its only topics. And it is undoubtedly 
the large admixture of passages in which 

God the Fatlier turns a school divine, 

that justifies the assertion, that it is a poem "more praised tliau 
read ;" and that few who sit down to read it through do not find 
it a task of which they grow somewhat weary before it is accom- 
plished. But, in reality, long compositions in poetry are seldom 
re-perused in their whole extent; and the reader, whose curiosi- 
ty with respect to the plan and termination is already gratified, 
usually contents himself afterwards with recurring to favourite 
passages of distinguished excellence. Of such passages, what 
piece can boast more than Paradise Lost ; and whither can the 
exhausted mind resort with surer success, to renovate itself with 
those high ideas and enthusiastic sensations, which it is the pre- 
rogative of poetry to excite in so superior a degree ? 

The style of this poem is in some measure characteristic of its 
nature and subject. With the severe and even naked simplicity 
of primitive language, it unites every figurative form that can 
give elevation and dignity to speech, and that uncommon con- 



MILTON. 191 

struction and use of words which impresses the stamp of erudi- 
tion. It is, indeed, to be observed, that Milton's prose is formed 
upon a like imitation of the languages of antiquity ; and thii taste 
seems to have grown upon him as he advanced in years. Perhaps, 
a sense of the increasing weight and importance of his subjects 
led him to clothe his thoughts in terms more remote from vulgar 
use. It is certain, likewise, that the example of the ancient poets 
themselves, particularly Virgil and his followers, sanctioned the 
practice of employing antiquated words and the anomalies of dic- 
tion, in order to establish a characteristic difference between the 
styles of poetry and prose. The annotators on Milton seem in 
general to have regarded as peculiar beauties his learned forms 
of phraseology and foreign senses ; and man}" of his imitators ap- 
pear to have thought that in these particulars consisted the es- 
sence of Milfordc didion. I confess it, however, to be my opinion 
that his taste really suffered from the barbarism of a controver- 
sial age, in the disputes of which he had borne so conspicuous a 
part; and that, although his poetical genius had been wonder- 
fully preserved amid the wreck of elegant literature, his delicate 
perception of beauty and propriety in expression had been some 
what impaired since the golden days of his Comus. 

With respect to the versification of Paradise Lost, it is justly 
considered as exhibiting the whole compass of harmony and va- 
riety of which blank verse is capable. No poet seems to have 
possessed a more musical ear than Milton; and as well in the 
simple melody of varied pauses, as in the adaptation of sounds 
to particular expressions, he displays all the power of a master. 
At the same time, it must be allowed that his long work abounds 
with instances of violations of the common rules of measure, 
which would scarcely be tolerated in an inferior writer. Of these, 
however, a part are to be imputed to design; the irregularity or 
defect being manifestly accommodated to the meaning: and the 
judgment of the poet in such cases has been sanctioned by the 
admiration of critics and imitators. A much greater number are 
merely the products of haste and negligence ; of a mind too 
much absorbed by serious contemplations to attend to the nice- 
ties of position ; and poiiring forth unpremeditated strains, which 
the ferver of his temper, joined with his bodily infirmity, did not 
permit him to elaborate into perfection. These may well be ex- 
cused, but it is prejudice or false taste to admire them ; and they 
v.'ho have made Milton's negligenscefs "an 'apology for their own 



t9ii MILTON. 

indolence or carelessness, should have reflected that when faults 
are tolerated, it is in consideration of a decided preponderancy 
of excellencies. 

After the attention bestowed upon Paradise Lost, few remarks 
will suffice respecting Pakadise Regainkd. This poem, whether 
it be ranked among the epic or heroic, is in reality a kind of af- 
ter piece, sprinfjing; rather from the theological than the poetical 
conception of the great work above mentioned. This idea of it 
is contirmed by the history of its origin, which was from the sug- 
gestion of the quaker El wood, who seems to have thought the 
poet's task incomplete, till he should have rounded his system 
by adding a Paradise Found to a Paradise J^ost. Its subject is a 
single event in the history of Christ ; his temptation by Satan in 
the wilderness: and it is very remarkable, that in Milton's divinity 
the triumph of the Son of God on this occasion should be consi- 
dered as of itself completing the redemption of mankitid, and be- 
ing the efficient cause of the recovery of Paradise. The commen- 
tators suppose that he adopted this notion, for the sake of con- 
trasting that diaobedience of Adam which causetl him to yield to 
temptation, with the obedience of Christ, which enabled him to 
resist it. But whatever be thought of the soundness of Milton's 
theology in this point, his poetical judgment may justly be caMed 
in question : for, the Temptation forms so inconsiderable a part 
of that eventful history of the life and actions of the founder of 
the Christian religion, which is indelibly impressed upon the me- 
mory of every reader of the scriptures, that it is impossible the 
mind can be satisfied with a narration of it given as a whole, and 
made a kind of parallel to the splendid story of Paradise Lost. 
The awful words. It is finished, will never by a Christian be taken 
from the solemn catastrophe of the death of his Saviour, and be 
applied to the completion of his first trial. 

The Temptation, however, considered as a single scene of the 
great drama, possesses that character of the marvellous, which 
renders it not unsuitable for poetry. It is true, there is less ac- 
tion in it than discourse ; and Milton's reverence for the original 
records would not permit him to make any material addition to 
the circumstances ; yet he has happily intermixed with the dia- 
logue, which forms the chief matter of the piece, as great a va- 
riety of description as the subject would afford. It perhaps had 
been better for him to have avoided any community of poetical 
fiction with the Paradise Lost, since it was not likely that his 



MILTON. 193 

fancy should again soar to the sublime heights it had reached in 
that poem. Thus, the consultation among the infernal powers 
which forms the machinery of Paradise Regained, is so faint a 
copy of Pandemonium, and Satan and his chiefs appear in it with 
a lustre so diminished, that the character of an inferior produc- 
tion is at once fixed in the reader's mind. Without such a pa- 
rallel. Paradise Regained might well sustain itself, as a work 
abounding in excellent reasoning and sentiment, and containing 
many pleasing sketches of natural scenery. There are even parts 
in which the Miltonic genius displays itself in all the vigour of 
its best days ; nor do I know any passages in all the works of 
this great poet to which a reader may oftener recur with fresh 
delight, than those in which bird's-eye views are painted of the 
three capitals, Ctesiphon, Rome, and Athens. It is impossible 
for learning more happily to aid the imagination, than it has done 
in suggesting the characteristic features by which these places are 
distinguished and contrasted ; and the pen never more perfectly 
fulfilled the task of the pencil than in these living descriptions. 
On the whole, though Paradise Regained was justly regarded by 
the public as a fall ing-off from the majesty of Paradise Lost, yet 
it is a piece which Milton only could have written, and bears all 
the peculiar marks of his master hand. Tradition says that it 
was his own favourite work, and this circumstance has been ad- 
duced as a proof of the incompetency of a writer to judge of his 
own performances. But is probable that Milton, in this case, 
judged rather as a theologian than as a poet ; and having with 
much art contrived to introduce all the leading doctrines of 
Christianity into this piece, he considered it as the consumma- 
tion of a grand scheme, and measured its value by the impor- 
tance of its subject. 

There remains to speak of the only tragedy composed by Mil- 
ton, his Samson Agonistes, also the work of this declining pe- 
riod of his life. We are not to conceive of Milton as a writer 
ior a modern stage. His own taste, and that of the public at his 
time, with respect to dramatic compositions, were formed upon 
totally different principles ; nor could his name and character be 
expected to obtain favour for him in an English theatre. He, 
therefore, did not think it worth while to adapt his Samson for 
the stage; whence it appears without any division inta acts and 
scenes. His idea of tragedy was entirely derived from Grecian 
models, which he has finely characterised in the following lines : 
Bb 



194 MILTON. 

TlxTice what the lofty throve tPfgeclians taught 

In Cl)orus or lanihic, teachers best 

Of itioral prudence, wiih delight received 

In bi uf senlentinus pncepts, wliilt- they treat 

Of Fute, and Chance, and change in human life. 

High actions and high passions best describing. 

Pur. Reg. iv. 251. 

It is this strain of moral precept and sententious remark which 
he has cliosen for his imitation ; and he has chosen as their vehi- 
cle a story simple in its texture, affording neither the intricacies 
of plot, nor the play of violent passions. Indeed, as Milton's 
knowledge of mankind appears to have been drawn more from 
books than from personal observation, and to have consisted 
rather in general propositions than particular facts, he was little 
qualified to paint the genuine language of passion, or to trace 
the workings of the affections through all the windings of the 
heart. But what he attempted, he well performed. He gave a 
closet drama, replete with admirable maxims of prudence and 
morality, public and private ; containing, indeed, few passages 
of high poetry, but many sentences of strong and nervous ex- 
pression, excellently fitted to dwell upon the memory, and to 
make a part of that store of true philosophy which, in a well- 
furnished mind, lies ready for the uses of life. The most pa- 
thetic part of this piece is Samson's lamentation for his blind- 
ness, in which the poet copied from his own sensations. The 
scene with Harapha is spirited ; and the description of the final 
catastrophe has the colouring of a master. It is observable, that 
though the form of the composition is Grecian, the manners and 
sentiments are purely Hebrew, in strict conformity to the scene 
and persons. It has been invidiously suggested, that Milton 
chose the story of Samson for the opportunity it gave him of 
satirising bad wives. I should rather imagine, that the assertion 
of pure religion, and the resistance of tyrannical power, were 
the chief circumstances which gave him a predilection for this 
fable ; though it must be acknowledged that here, as well as in 
his Paradise Lost, he holds extremely high the authority of a hus- 
band, and represents the female sex as objects of caution and 
suspicion to a wise man. 

Such, in a compendious view, are the Poems of Milton, the 
richest treasure of the kind our language possesses, unless an 
exception be pleaded for the works of Shakespeare. But although 
these abound in passages of the noblest poetry, yet their distin- 



MILTON. 195 

guishing merit is of another kind. It is the insight into the hu- 
man heail, and the delineation of all its passions and affections, 
which place Shakespeare beyond all competition among his bro- 
ther dramatists. In pure poetry, his flights, though lofty, are 
short aid wavering; while Milton, upborne by the combined 
powers of native genius and unremitting study, elevated by all 
that can give force and dignity t(, the mind, holds on a stead- 
fast coarse, which knows no limits but those impassable by the 
human intellect. 



AN ESSAY 

ON 

THE HEROIC POEM 

OF 



A PERSON engaged in the pursuit of literary fame must be 
severely mortified on observing the very speedy neglect into 
which writers of high merit so frequently fall. The revolution 
of centuries, the extinction of languages, the vast convulsions 
which agitate a whole people, are causes which may well be sub- 
mitted to in overwhelming an author with oblivion ; but that in 
the same country, with little variation of language or manners, 
the delights of one age should become utter strangers in the next, 
is surely an immaturity of fate which conveys reproach upon the 
inconsistency of national taste. That noble band, the English 
Poets, have ample reason for complaining to what unjust guar- 
dians they have entrusted their renown. While we crown the 
statue of Shakespeare as the prince of dramatic poets, shall we 
forget the works, and almost the names, of his contemporaries 
who possessed so much of a kindred spirit ? Shall the Italian 
Pastor Fido and Amynta stand high in our estimation, and the 
Faithful Shepherdess, the most beautiful pastoral that a poet's 
fancy ever formed, be scarcely known amongst us? Shall we 
feel the fire of heroic poetry in translations from Greece and 
Rome, and never search for it in the native productions of our 
own country ? 

The capital work of Sir William D'avenant, which I now de- 
sire to call forth from its obscurity, may well be considered as 
in a state of oblivion, since we no where meet with allusions to 
it, or quotations from it, in our modern writers; and few, I ima- 
gine, even of the professed students in English classics, would 



GONDIBERT. 197 

think their taste discredited by confessing that they had never 
read Gondibert. A very learned and ingenious critic, in his 
well-known Discourse upon Poetical Imitation, has, indeed, taken 
notice of this poem ; but though he bestows all due praise upon 
its author, yet the purpose for which it is mentioned being to in- 
stance an essential error, we cannot suppose that his authority 
has served to gain it more readers. Having very judiciously laid 
it down as a general observation, that writers by studiously avoid- 
ing the fancied disgrace of imitation are apt to fall into improper 
methods, forced conceits, and affected expression ; he proceeds 
to introduce the work in question after the following manner: 
" And, that the reader may not suspect me of asserting this 
without experience, let me exemplify what has been here said in 
the case of a very eminent person, who, with all the advantages 
of art and nature that could be required to adorn the true poet, 
was ruined by this single error. The person I mean was Sir 
William D'avenant, whose Gondibert will remain a perpetual 
monument of the mischiefs which must ever arise from this af- 
fectation of originality in lettered and polite poets." 

A considerable degree of deference is undoubtedly due to a 
critic of such acknowledged taste and abilities ; yet, since it ap- 
pears to vnP ihnt in this inetanrp hp ivrites under the influence 

of system and learned prejudice, I shall venture to canvass the 
principles upon which he supports his censure. 

The method of Gondibert is first objected to by Dr. Hurd, and 
upon two accounts. First, that the compass of the poem is con- 
tracted from the limits of the ancient epic, to those of the dra- 
matic form ; and by this means, pursuing a close accelerated plot, 
the opportunity is lost of introducing digressive ornaments, and 
of giving that minuteness of description which confers an air of 
reality. Now, since the author sets out with disavowing the 
common rules of epic poetry, it is certainly unjust to try hisn by 
those rules. That effects are not produced which he never de- 
signed to produce, can be no matter of blame ; we have only to 
examine the justness of the design itself. It is wrong to expect 
incompatible qualities as well in compositions as in men. A 
work cannot at the same time possess force and diffusiveness, 
rapidity and minuteness. 

Every one who has read Homer with prejudice, will, T doubi: 
not, confess that the eftects which should result from the great 
events of the story are much broken and impeded by that very 



198 GONDTBERT. 

minuteness of description, and frequency of digression, which 
D'aveuant is blamed for rejecting. The mind, warmed bv an 
interesting narration, either in history, poetry, or romance, re- 
quires tlie writer to keep up with its exertions, and cannot bear 
him to flag in his pace, or turn aside in pursuit of other objects. 
The proper end of epic poetry, according to Dr. Hurd, is admi- 
ration. This, I imagine, would by no means have been allowed 
by our author, who seems rather to have placed it in interesting 
the passions, inculcating noble sentiments, and informing the 
understanding. Nor does it answer the idea of Horace, who 
praises Homer for his moral lessons, for teaching 

quid sit pulchrum,quid turpe, quid utile, quid non. 

However, a due limitation of subject, and something of rapid- 
ity in pursuing it, appear very necessary to the production of a 
considerable effect of what kind soever; and a pompous dreplay 
of foreign circumstances must always debilitate more than adorn. 
It appears an extremely bad compliment to an epic poem, to say 
that its chief beauty lies in the episodes. Indeed, epic poetry as 
existing in the models of antiquity, or their copies, by no means, 
I think, deserves the title given by critics, of the highest species 

of poetical COmpOSitiun. The Icdiuus i^uiiipass uf the fsubject, the 

necessity of employing so large a share of the work in the rela- 
tion of trifling occurrences for the sake of connection, and the 
frequency of interruptions from collateral matter, inevitably 
cause both the poet's exertions and the reader's attention to in- 
termit ; and it is no wonder that Homer and Virgil, too, some- 
times nod over their labours. The author of Gondibert seems to 
have been sensible of these inconveniences, and, upon fair com- 
parison of the epic and dramatic form, to have preferred the lat- 
ter as capable of more spirit, and uniform dignity. We shall find, 
however, in reviewing the poem, that he has by no means re- 
stricted himself so narrowly as to preclude all ornamental devi- 
ations; and though they may not deserve the title of episodes, 
yet in his short and unfinished piece, they have all the desirable 
effect of a pleasing variety. 

The second objection which Dr. Hurd brings against the me- 
thod of this poem, is the rejection of all supernatural agency, or 
what constitutes the m.achinery of the ancient epic poem. But, 
for this, the critic himself offers a vindication, when be conimei)ds 
the author for not running into the wild fables of the Italian ro- 



GONDIBERT. 199 

mancers, " which had too slender a foundation in the serious be- 
lief of his age to justify a relation to them." Now by making 
this ic/ic/" an essential rule of propriety with respect to the ma- 
chinery, an author in an enlightened period, such as tha< of D'ave- 
nant, is, in eftect, prohibited from its use altogether; for the ab- 
stracted nature of a pure and philosophical religion renders it 
utterly unfit for the purposes of poetical fiction. The works of 
such Christian poets as have attempted to form a system of ma- 
chinery upon the ideas of saints, angels, and tutelary spirits, will 
sufficiently prove that their religion, even with a mixture of pop- 
ular superstition, was ill calculated to assist their imagination. 
Two writers, whom one would little expect to meet upon the 
same ground, fcir Richard Blackraore and Voltaire, have given 
instances of the same faulty plan in this respect; and nothing 
in the good Knight's epic labours can more deserve the attack of 
ridicule, (han the divine mission in the Henriade for instructing 
his Majesty in the sublime mysteries of transubstantiation. 

It was a very just charge which Plato brought against Homer, 
that he had greatly contributed to debase religion by the unv/or- 
thy and absurd representations he has given of the celestial be- 
ings, both with respect to their power and their justice ; and this 
is a fault which the poet must always in some measure be guilty 
of when he too familiarly mixes divine agency with human events. 
Nor does it appear more favourable to the greatness of the human 
personages, that they are on all occasions so beholden to the im- 
mediate interposition of divine allies. The refined and judicious 
Virgil, though he has tolerably kept up the dignity of his Deities, 
has yet \ery much lowered his heroes from this cause. When 
we see ^neas, the son of a Goddess, aided by a God, and covered 
with celestial armour, with difficulty vanquishing the gallant 
Turnus, we conclude that without such odds the victory must 
have fallen on the other side. Under such a system of super- 
natural agency, there- was no other way of exalting a man than 
making him, like Diomed, war against the Gods, or like Cato, 
approve a cause which they had unjustly condemned. Surely a 
" sober intermixture of religion" can never be attributed to the 
ancient epic. The poem of Gondibert is, indeed, without all this 
mixture of religious machinery, whether it be termed sober or 
extravagant. Human means are brought to accomplish human 
ends ; and Cowley, in his recommendatory lines prefixed to the 
work, has thus expressed his approbation of this part of the plan ; 



':00 GONDIBERT, 

l\Ictliiiiks heroick poesie till now 
Like some fantasiique fairy-land did sliow ; 
Gods, Devils, Nymphs, Witches, and Giants' i-ace, 
And all hut Man in man's best wdrk had place. 
Tliou, like some worihv Knight, with sacred arms 
Dost drive the Monster's thence, and end tht' charms; 
Instead olthtse dost Men and Manners plant, 
Thelhii'gs which that rich sod did chiefly want. 

We shall see hereafter that the author has not neglected to in- 
troduce religious sentiment, and that of a more noble and eleva- 
ted kind than can easily be paralleled in poetry. 

But as the poet, in the critic's opinion, did too much in ban- 
ishing every thing supernatural in the events, so he did too lit- 
tle in retaining the fantastic notions of love and honour in the 
characters of his piece, which were derived from the same source 
of fiction and romance. There is, however, an essential differ- 
ence between the cases. Artificial sentiments, however unnatu- 
ral at first, may, from the operation of particular causes, become 
so familiar as to be adopted into the manners of the age. In- 
stances of fashion in sentiment are almost as frequent as of fash- 
ion in dress. It is certain that the romantic ideas of love and 
honour did in fact prevail in a high degree during a considera- 
ble period of the later ages, owing to causes which the same in- 
genious critic has, in a very curious manner, investigated in his 
Letters on Chivalry and Romance. They gave the leading tone 
to all polished manners ; and gallantry was as serious a principle 
in the Italian courts, as love to their country in the states of 
Greece or old Rome. Supernatural agency in human events, on 
the other hand, however commonly pretended, or firmly believ- 
ed, would never approach one step nearer to reality. After all, 
the author of Gondibert could not intend to reduce his poem to 
mere history ; but he chose to take a poetical license in the dig- 
nity and elevation of his sentiments, rather than in the marvel- 
ousness of its events. He thought he might attribute to the ex- 
alted personages of courts and camps the same nobleness of 
mind which himself, a courtier and a soldier, possessed. If his 
work be allowed less grand and entertaining from the want of 
such ornaments as those of his predecessors are decorated with» 
it will yet be difficult to show how, at his time, they could have 
been applied consistently with good sense and improved taste. 

So much in vuulicaiion of the general method of Sir W. 
D'avenant's poem. With respect to its execution, the justice of 



GONDIBERT. 201 

Dr. Hurd's censure cannot be controverted. That his sentiments 
are frequently far-tetched and affected, and his expression quaint 
and obscure, is but too obviously apparent ; and these faults, to- 
gether with the want of harmony in versification will sufficiently 
account for the neglect into which the work is fallen, though in- 
teresting in its story, and thick sown with beauties. Readers 
who take up a book merely for the indolent amusement of a lei- 
sure hour, cannot endure the labour of unharbouring a fine 
thought from the cover of perplexed expression. The pleasure 
arising from a flowing line or a rounded period is more engaging 
to them, because more easily enjoyed, than that from a sublime 
or witty conception. The author's faulty executio7i, however, 
arose from a source directly contrary to the "dread of imitation." 
Imitation itself led him to it; for almost all the models of polite 
Hterature existing in his own country, and indeed in the other 
polished nations of Europe, were characterised by the very same 
vitiation of taste. Among our own writers it is sufficient to in- 
stance Donne, Suckling and Cowley for this constant aftectation 
of wit and uncommon sentiment, and for a consequent obscurity 
of expression. Yet all these, and Sir W. D'avenant, perhaps, in 
a more eminent degree than the rest, had for great occasions, 
above the temptation of trifling, a majestic and nervous simpli- 
city both of sentiment and expression ; which, with our more re- 
fined taste and language, we have never been able to equal. 

I should now hope that the reader would set out with me upon 
a nearer inspection of this poem, with the general idea of its 
being the work of an elevated genius, pregnant with a rich store 
of free and noble sentiment, fashioned by an intimate commerce 
with the great world, and boldly pursuing an original but not an 
unskilful plan. 

The measure chosen for this poem is that which we now almost 
confine to elegy. This choice does not appear very judicious j 
iov although our elegiac stanza possesses a strength and fulness 
which renders it not unsuitable to heroic subjects, yet in a piece 
of considerable length, every returning measure must become 
tiresome from its frequent repetitions. And this is not the worst 
eftect of returning stanzas, in a long work. The necessity of 
comprising a sentence within the limits of the measure is the ty- 
ranny of Procrustes to thought. For the sake of a disagreeable 
uniformity, expression must constantly be cramped or extenu- 
ated. In general the latter expedient will be practised, as the 
Cc 



202 GONDIBERT. 

easiest ; and tlius both sentiment and language will be enfeebled 
by uiimeanin<!; expletives. This, indeed, in some measure is the 
effect of rhyme couplets ; and still more of the Latin hexameter 
and pentameter. In our author, a redundancy of thought, run- 
ning out into parentheses, seems to have been produced, or at 
least encouraged, by the measure. But I think he has generally 
preserved a force and majesty of expression. 

It would have been highly injudicious for one who has reject- 
ed all poetical machinery, to have begun his poem with the an- 
cient form of invoking a Muse. Indeed, in all modern writers 
this invocation appears little better than an unmeaning ceremo- 
ny, practised by rote from ancient custom ; and very properly 
makes a part of the receipt for an epic poem humourously laid 
down after the exact model of mechanical imitation, in the Spec- 
tator. Our author, with simple and unaffected dignity, thus 
opens at once into his subject : 

Of all the Letubiircl's, by their trophies known, 
Who sought fame soon, anJ had hei favour long. 

King Aribert best seem'd to fill the throne. 
And bred most business for heroic song. 

This conquering monarch, we are soon acquainted, was blest 
with an only child, the heroine of the story. 

Recorded Rhodalind ! whose high renown 

Who miss in books not luckily have read ; 
Or vex'd with living beauties of their own 

Have shunn'd the wise records of lovers dead. 

Descriptions of female beauty have engaged the powers of 
poets in every age, who have exhausted all nature for imagery to 
heighten their painting; yet the picture has ever been extremely 
faint and inadequate. Our poet judiciously confines his descrip- 
tion of Rhodalind to the qualities of her mind, contenting him- 
self with general praises, though in the high-flown gallantry of 
the times, of her personal charms. 

Her looks like empire shew'd, great above pride ; 

Since pride ill counterfeits excessive height : 
But -lature publish 'd what she fain would hide. 

Who for her deeds, not beauty, lov'd the light. 

To make her lowly mind's appearance less. 
She us'd some outward greatness for disguise ; 



GONDIBERT. 20^ 

Esteem'd as pi-ide the cloyst'ral lowliness, 
And thought them proud who even the proud despise. 



Oppressors big with pride, when she appear'd 
Blush'd, and believ'd their greatness counterfeit ; 

The lowly thought they them in vain had fear'd ; 
Found virtue harmless, and nought else so great. 

Her mind (scarce to her feeble sex a-kin) 

Did as her birth, her right to empire show ; 
Seem'd careless outward when employ'd within; 

Her speech, like lovers watch'd, was kind and low. 

The court of Aribert could not want men of high rank and 
accomplishments to pay their devotions at such a shrine. 
Amongst these, "Oswald the Great and greater Gondibert" mov- 
ed in the most exalted sphere of renown. These noble person- 
ages are characterised and contrasted with so masterly a hand 
that it would be an injury not to transcribe the whole. 

In court Prince Oswald costly was and gay. 

Finer than near vain kings their fav'rites are; 
Outshin'd bright fav'rites on their nuptial day ; 

Yet were his eyes dark with ambitious care. 

Duke Gondibert was still more gravely clad. 

But yet his looks familiar were and clear; 
As if with ill to others never sad. 

Nor tow'rds himseli"couid others practise fear. 

The Prince could porpoise like in tempests play, 
And in court storms on shipwreck'd greatness feed ; 

Not frighted with their fate when cast away. 
But to their glorious hazards durst succeed. 

The Duke would lasting calms to courts assure. 

As pleasant gardens we defend from winds; 
For he who bus'ness would from storms procure. 

Soon his affairs above his manage finds. 

Oswald in throngs the abject people sought 

With humble looks ; who still too late will know 

They are ambition's quarry, and soon caught 
When the aspiring eagle stoops so low. 

The Duke did these by steady virtue gain; 

Which they in action more than precept taste ; 
Deeds shew the good, and those who goo<)ncss feign 

By such even though their vizards are outfac't. 



204 GONDIBERT. 

y;« Oswald in war was worthily renown'd; 

Though gay in courts; coarsely in camps could live ; 
Judg'd danger soon, and first was in it found : 
Could toil to gain what he with ease did give. 

Yet toils and dangers through ambition lov'd. 

Which does in war the name of virtue own : 
But quits that name when from the war remov'd, 

As rivers theirs when from their channels gone> 

The Duke (as restless as his fame in war) 

With martial toil could Oswald weary make, 
And calmly do what lie with rage did dare, 

And give so much as he might deign to take. 

Him as their founder cities did adore ; 

The court he knew to steer in storms of State ; 
In fields a battle lost he could restore. 

And after force the victors to their fate. 

Of these great rivals, Gondibert was he whom the king had 
destined for his son-in-law, and the heir of his throne ; and Rho- 
dalind, too, in the privacy of her own breast, had made the same 
choice. This is related in a manner little inferior to Shake- 
speare's famous description of concealed love. 

Yet sadly it is sung that she in shades 

Mildly as mourning doves love's sorrows felt; 
Whilst in her secret teai'S her freshness fades. 

As roses silently in lymbecks melt. 

Gondibert, however, though of a nature by no means unsus- 
ceptible of the tender passion, had not as yet felt it for a parti- 
cular object ; and Oswald, who stood forth as the public suitor 
to the princess, was incited by no other motive than ambition 
Not Rhodalind herself (says the Poet) 

Could he affect but shining in her throne. 

His cause was powerfully pleaded with the princess by his 
sister Gartha, with whom we are next brought acquainted. A 
bold, full, majestic beauty ; and a corresponding mind, high, 
restless, and aspiring, are her distinguishing features. The 
Prince and Duke were urged on to ambitious pursuits by their 
respective armies, which, just returned from conquest, lay en- 
camped, the one at Brescia, and the other at Bergamo. That of 
Gontlioert was composed of hardy youth whom he had selected 
from his father's camp, and educated in martial discipline under 



GONDIBERT. 205 

his own inspection. Temperance, chastity, vigilance, humanity, 
and all the high virtues of chivalry, remarkably distinguish these 
young soldiers from those of later times. Beauty, indeed, com- 
manded no less regard amongst them than in a modern camp ; 
but it was an object of passion, and not of appetite ; and was the 
powerful engine in their education which inspired them with no- 
ble and exalted sentiments. This is an idea on which our author, 
true to the principles of chivalry, very frequently enlarges, and 
always with peculiar force and dignity. In the present instance 
it is thus finely expressed : 

But iliougli the Duke taught rigid discipline. 

He let ihem beauiy thus at distance know ; 
As pi-iests discover some more sacred shrine, 

Which none must touch, yet all to it may bow. 

Whi n thus as suitors mourning virgins pass 

Through their clean camp, thenoselves in form they draw. 

That they with martial reverence may grace 
Rtauiy, Uie stranger, which tiiey seldom saw. 

They vayi'd their ensigns as it by did move. 

Whilst inward, as from native conscience, all 
Woiship'd the poet's darling god-head, Love ; 

Which grave philosopiiers did Nature call. 

Indeed, the influence of this passion in its purest and most 
exalted state, during the cowrse of education, is a subject that 
might, perhaps, shine as much in the hands of a moralist as of a 
poet. 

The soldiers of Oswald were his father's brave veterans, in 
whose arms he had been bred. The story thus opened, and our 
attention awakened to the expectation of important events, the 
first canto is closed. ♦ 

The second canto introduces us to a solemn annual hunting, 
held by Duke Gondibert in commemoration of a great victory- 
gained on this day by his grandsire. His train was adorned by- 
many gallant and noble persons, the friends of his family, and 
commanders in his army. The hunting, which is described with 
much poetical spirit, terminates in a combat. As Gondibert and 
his party are returning weary homeward, an ancient ranger hasti- 
ly brings the tidings that Oswald, who had lain in ambush with 
a body of chosen horse, is advancing upon them. The Duke, re- 
jecting all counsels of flight, prepares to receive his foes ; and 



206 GONDIBERT. 

with an account of their principal leaders, and the order ot their 
inarch, the canto concludes. 

A parley between the chiefs now succeeds, in which the cha- 
racter of each is well preserved. Oswald warmly accuses his 
rival for usurping his claims on the princess and the kingdom. 
Gondibert defends himself with temper, and disavows all ambi- 
tious designs. The other disdains accommodation ; and the con- 
ference ends in a generous agreement to decide their differences 
in single fight. 

When every thing is prepared for, the combat, Hubert, the 
brother of Oswald, steps forth with a general challenge to the 
opposite party. This is instantly accepted, and serves for a pre- 
lude to so many others, that a general engagement seems likely 
to ensue ; when Oswald reproves their disobedient ardour : and, 
upon Hubert's insisting to share his fate from the rights of bro- 
therhood, it is at length decided that three persons of each party 
should enter the lists along with their generals. The duel then 
comes on, in the fourth canto ; in which Oswald, Hubert, Para- 
dine and Dargonet, are severally matched with Gondibert; Hur- 
gonil, the lover of Orna, the Duke's sister ; and Arnold and Hugo, 
generous rivals in Laura. Descriptions of battle are so frequent 
in epic poetry that scarcely any circumstances of variety are left 
to diversify them. Homer and his imitators have attempted 
novelty in the multiplicity of their combats by every possible 
variation of weapon, posture, and wound. They considered the 
human body with anatomical nicety ; and dwelt with a savage 
pleasure upon every idea of pain and horror that studied but- 
chery could excite. I shall leave it to the professed admirers 
of antiquity to determine under what head of poetical beauty 
such objects are to be ranged. The terrible is certainly a prin- 
cipal source of the sublime ; but a slaughter-house or a surgery 
would not seem proper studies for a poet. D'avenant has drawn 
little from them. His battles are rendered interesting chiefly by 
the character and situation of the combatants. When Arnolds 
the favoured lover of Laura, is slain by Paradine, Hugo, who 
had over-thrown his antagonist, springs to avenge his rival, with 
these truly gallant expressions : 

Vain conqueror, said Hugo then, return! 

Instead of laurel which the victor wears 
Go gather cyprf ss for thy broili* r's u' n. 

And learn of me to water it with tears. ; 



GONDIBERT. 20r 

T!»y brother lost liis life aitcmpting mine ; 

Which cannot For Lord Arnold's loss sufllce ; 
I must reven.;e, unliu-ky Paradine! 

The blood his dealli will draw from Laura's eyes. 

We rivals were in T^aura ; but though she 

My griefs der'ided, his with sighs approv'd. 
Yet I, in love's exact integrity. 

Must take thy life for killing him she lov'd. 

His generosity, however, was fatal botii to his foe and himself. 

Hubert, disabled by a wound in his arm, is dishonoured by re- 
ceiving his life from his conqueror ; upon which occasion the 
poet thus beautifully apostrophisis : 

O Honour, frail as life thy fellow flower ! 

Cherish'd and wateh'd and hum'rously esteera'd, 
Then worn for short adornments of an hour; 

And is, when lost, no more than life iweem'd. 

The two chiefs are still left closely engaging ; and when Hur 
gonil approaches to assist his lord, he is warmly commanded to 
retire. At length, after many mutual wounds, Oswald falls. 

The death of the Prince at the same time takes off all restraint 
from his party, and incites them to revenge. Led by the wound- 
ed Hubert, old Vasco, and Borgio, they attack the hunters, who, 
besides the fatigue of the chase, are represented as somewhat in- 
ferior in number. A furious battle, the subject of the fifth canto, 
now ensues. Gondibert shines forth in all the splendour of a hero. 
By his prowess his friends are rescued, and the opposite leaders 
overthrown in various separate encounters ; and by his military 
skill the brave veterans of Oswald are defeated. The whole de- 
scription of the battle is warm and animated. 

In Gondibert's generous lamentation over the fallen, every 
heart must sympathise with the following pathetic tribute to the 
rival lovers : 

Brave Arnold and his rival strait remote. 
Where Laura shall bestrew their hallow 'd ground ; 

Protectors both, and ornaments of love ; 
This said, his eyes out-Wfpt his widest wound. 

Tell her now these, love's faithful saints, are gone 

The beauty they ador'd sJie ought to hide ; 
For vainly will love's miracles be shown, 

Since lover's faith with these braTe riraU dy'd. 



208 GONDIBERT. 

Say little Hugo never more shull mourn 

Id niiblii numbers, her uukind nisdain ; 
"Who now, not seeing benuiy, feels no scorn ; 

And wanting pk'i(Sure, is exempt from pain. 

When she with flowers Lord Arnold's grave shall Strew, 

And hears wh} Hugo's life was tlirown away, 
She on that rival's hearse will drop a few, 

Which raeiits all that April gives to May. 

The Duke now draws off his remaining friends towards Ber- 
gamo : but, on the journey, overcome by fatigue and loss of blood, 
he falls into a deadly swoon. His attendants, amidst their anx- 
iety and confusion upon this event, are surprised, in the sixth 
canto, with the approach of a squadron of horse. This, however, 
proves to be a friendly body, led by old Ulfin, who, after reco- 
vering the Duke by a cordial, declares himself to have been a 
page to his grandsire,<ind gives a noble relation of the character 
and exploits of his great master. The rumour of Oswald's attack 
brought him to the relief of Gondibert ; and we have a descrip- 
tion, which will be thought too much bordering upon the ludi- 
crous, of the strange confusion among his maimed veterans, who 
in their haste had seized upon each other's artificial limbs. This 
unsightly troop, with the deficiencies of hands, arms, legs, and 
eyes, can scarcely, with all the poet's art, be rendered a respec- 
table object. Such instances of faulty judgment are frequent in 
the writings of an age which was characterised by vigour of ima- 
grination rather than correctness of taste. Ulfin leads the Duke 
to the house of the sage Astragon, where, with the approach of 
night, the canto and the first book conclude. 

In the beginning of the second book, the poet carries us with 
Hurgonil and Tybalt and their noble dead, to Verona. The dis- 
tant turrets first appearing, and then the great objects opening, 
one by one ; the river, the palace, the temple, and the amphithe- 
atre of Flaminius, form a landscape truly noble and picturesque. 
The view of the temple gives occasion to one of those elevated 
religious sentiments which dignify this poem : 

This to soothe heaven the bloody Clephes built ; 

As if heaven's king so soft and easy were. 
So meanly hous'd in heaven, and liind tn guilt, 

That he wciuld be a tyi ant's tenant here. 

We have then a lively description of a city morning ; with the 



GONDIBERT. 209 

various and uncertain rumours of the late event, among the people. 
The rest of the canto is employed in a debate, rather tedious, 
though intermixed with fine sentiments, concerning the propri- 
ety of granting funeral rites to those who had perished in the 
quarrel. 

The progress of the fatal news is traced in the next canto. 
Aribert appears sitting in council in all the regal dignity. Tybalt 
relates the story. The king, in a majestic speech, complains of 
the toils and cares of empire, and predicts the baneful conse- 
quences likely to ensue. A more interesting scene is then dis- 
closed, in which Tybalt declares the melancholy events of the 
combat to Rhodalind and the other ladies of the court. Great 
art is shown in the delicate ambiguity by which they are prepar- 
ed to receive the tidings. Laura is overpowered by her loss ; 
and calling on Arnold's name, is conveyed away by her female 
attendants. This tender scene of sorrow is finely contrasted by 
the abrupt entrance of Gartha, in all the wild pomp of mingled 
rage and grief. 

Ko sooner was the pity'd Laura gone, 

But Oswald's sister, Gartha the renowu'd, 
E'ters as it the world was overthrown, 

Or in the tears of the afflicted diown'd. 

Unconquer'd as her beauty was her mind. 

Which wanted not a spark of Oswald's fire ; 
Ambition lov'd but ne'er to love was kind ; 

Vex'd thrones did more tlian quiet shades desire. 

Her garments now iu loose neglect she wore, 
As suited to her wild disheveli'd hair. 

In the fury of her passion she breaks out into execrations 
against the innocent. 

Blasted be all your beauties, Rhodalind ! 

Till you a shame and terror be to sight ; 
Unwing'd be Love, and slow as he is blind, 

Who with your looks poison'd my brother's sight! 

At length she mounts her chariot, and flies with the wings of 
revenge to the veteran camp at Brescia. The terror impressed 
on the people by her hasty departure is imaged with great sub- 
limity. 

She seem'd their city's Genius as she pass'd, 
Who, by their sins expell'd, would oe'er return, 
D d 



210 GONDIBERT. 

The third canto brings us to Brescia, where Hubert's arrival 
with the dead bodj of Oswald excites every emotion of surprise> 
grief and fury in the breasts of the brave veterans. They spend 
the night in this storm of contending passions ; and at day break 
assemble round the tent of Hubert, who by a noble harangue gives 
additional fire to their revenge. They instantly arm, and de- 
mand to be led to Bergamo ; when Gartha arrives. She turns 
their vengeance against the court, where she represents the tri- 
umph of Gondibert's faction, and the dishonour cast upon their 
own. The rage discovered in her countenance, overpowering the 
symptoms of grief, is painted with amazing grandeur in the fol- 
lowing simile : 

The Sun <!kl thus to threat'ned nature show 

His anger red, whilst guilt look'fl pale in all, 
When clouds of floods did hang about his brow ; 

And then shrunk back to let that anger tall. 

This tempest is, however, allayed in the next canto by the ar- 
rival of the wise Hermegild ; who, though grown aged in war and 
politics, is possessed with a youthful passion for Gartha. He 
solemnly binds his services to their party, for the reward of 
Gartha's love ; but persuades them to submit to more cautious 
and pacific measures. Gartha returns with him to the court; 
and the funeral of Oswald with Roman rites, "Which yet the 
world's last law had not forbid," is described in the remaining 
part of the canto. 

From scenes of rage and tumult the poet then leads us to the 
quiet shades of philosophy in the house of Astragon. This change 
is not better calculated for the reader's relief, than for a display 
of the richness and elevation of the writer's mind. That the 
friend of Hobbes should despise the learned lumber of the schools.,] 
will not be thought extraordinary ; but that he should distinctly 
mark out such plans of acquiring knowledge as have since been 
pursued with the greatest success, may well be deemed a re- 
markable proof of high and comprehensive genius. In Astra- 
gon's domain is a retired building, upon which is written in I 
largp letters, great nature's office. Here sit certain vener- 
able sages, stiled Nature^s Registers, busied in recording what is.| 
brought them by a throng called their Intelligencers. These men 
are diversly employed in exploring the haunts of beasts, of birds 
and of fishes, and collecting observations of their manners, their 



GONDIBERT. 211 

prey, their increase, and every circumstance of their ceconomy. 
Near t'lis plare is nature's nursery, stocked with every spec ies 
of plants, of which the several properties and virtue'" are dili- 
gently examined. Is it not striking to find in the house of ^3- 
iragon so exact a model of the school of Linnaeus ? 

We are next led to the cabinet of death ; a receptacle for 
skeletons and anatomical curiosities of every kind : and from 
thence, by a pleasing analogy, to the library, or, as it is termed, 
the MONUMENT OF banish'd MINDS. The feelings of his guests 
on entering this room are thus described : 

Where, when they thought they saw in well sought books 

Th' assembled souls of all that men held wise, 
It bred such awful rev'rence in their looks 

As if they saw the bury'd writers rise. 

The poet then goes through a particular survey of the authors, 
distinguished into their several periods, countries, and profes- 
sions J in which he exhibits a great extent of learning, and, much 
more to his honour, a sound and liberal judgment of what is truly 
valuable in learning. Of this, his account of the polemic divines 
will be thought no unfavourable specimen. 

About this sacreH little book did stand 

Unwieldly volumes, and in number great; 
And long it was since any reader's hand 

Had reach 'd them from their uofrequeated scat. 

For a deep dust (which time does softly shed, 
Where only time does come) their covers bear; 

On which grave spiders streets of weds had spread. 
Subtle, and slight, as the grave writers were. 

In tliese heaven's holy fire does Tainly burn, 
Nor warms, nor lights, but is in sparkles spent: 

Where froward authors with disputes have torn 
The garment seamless as the firmament. 

If the subjects of this canto apnear more noble and elevated 
than those which usually employ the episodes of heroic poetry, 
that of the ensuing one must strike with still superior dignity. 
Having acquainted us with the philosophy of his admired sage, 
the poet now, by a beautiful kind of allegory, instructs us in his 
religion. Astragon had dedicated three temples, to prayer, to 
penitence, and to praise. The Temple of Prayet is described 
as a building quite plain, open, and without bells ; since nothing 



212 GONDIBERT. 

should tempt or summon to an office to which our own wants in- 
vite us. The duty of Penitence being a severity unpleasing to 
nature, its temple is contrived, by its solemn and uncommon ap- 
pearance, to catch the sense. It is a vast building of black mar- 
ble, hung with black, and furnished with that " dim religious 
light" which poets have so finely employed to excite kindred 
ideas of gloom and melancholy: but none, I think, have painted 
it with such strength of colouring as our author : 

Black curtains hide (lie glass : whilst from on high 

A winking lamp still threatens all the room, 
As if the lazy flame just now would die : 

Such will the sun's last light appear at doom. 

A tolling bell calls to the temple ; and every other circum- 
stance belonging to it is imagined with great propriety and beauty. 
But the poet's greatest exertions are reserved for his favourite 
temple of Praise. A general shout of joy is the summons to it. 
The building in its materials and architecture is gay and splen- 
did beyond the most sumptuous palace. The front is adorned 
with figures of all kinds of musical instruments ; all, as he most 
, beautifully expresses it, 

That joy did e'er invent, or breath inspir'd. 
Or flying fingers touch'd into a voice. 

The statues without, the pictures within, the decorations, and the 
choir of worshippers, are all suited with nice judgment, and de- 
scribed with genuine poetry. This distinguished canto concludes 
with these noble stanzas, the sum and moral, as it were, of the 
whole. 

Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds ; 

The difF'ring world's agreeing sacrifice ; 
Where heaven riiviripd faiths united finds : 

But Prayer in various discord upwards flies. 

For Prayer the ocean is, where diversely 

Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral coRst; 
Where all oar interests so discordant be 

That half beg winds by which the rest are lost. 

By Penitence when we ourselves forsake, 

'Tis but in wise design on piteous heav'n ; 
In Praise we nobly give what God may take, ^ 

And are without a beggar's blush forgiv'n. 



GONDIBERT. 213 

Its utmost force, like powder's, is unknown ; 

And tho' weak kings excess of Praise may fear, 
Yet when 'tis here, like powder, danj^ei-ons n;rown, 

Heav'n's vault receives what would the palace tear. 

The last thought will be termed, in this cold age, a conceit ; and 
so may every thing that distinguishes wit and poetry from plain 
sense and prose. 
The wonders of the House of Aairagon are not yet exhausted. 

To Astragon heaven for succession gave 

One only pledge, and CiaTiiA was Iier name. 

This maid, her father's humble disciple and assistant, educated 
in the bosom of rural simplicity, is rendered a more charming 
object than even the renowned Rhodalind upon her throne. 

Courts she ne'er saw, yet courts could have undone 

With untaught looks and an unpractis'd heart; 
Her nets the most prepar'd could never shun. 

For Nature spread them in the scorn of Art. 

But I check my desire of copying more from this exquisitely 
pleasing picture. My intention is to excite curiosity, not to gra- 
tify it. I hope I have already done enough for that purpose ; and 
since the rest of this unfinished story may be comprised in a 
short compass, I shall proceed, with but few interruptions, to 
conclude a paper already swelled to an unexpected bulk. 

That the unpractised Birtha should entertain an unresisted 
passion for the noblest of his sex ; and that Gondibert, whose 
want of ambition alone had secured him from the charms of Rho- 
dalind, should bow to those of his lovely hostess and handmaid, 
"will be thought a very natural turn in the story ; upon M'hich, 
however, the reader may foresee the most interesting events de- 
pending. The progress of their love, though scarcely known to 
themselves, is soon discovered by the sage Astragon. This is 
expressed by the poet with a very fine turn of a common thouglit. 

When ail these symptoms he observed, he knows 

Fiom Alga which is rooted deep in seas, 
To the his^h Ce<Iar that on mountains grows. 

No sov'reign herb is fouiu! for their disease. 

The remainder of this poem, consisting of a third book written 
during the author-s imprisonment, is composed of several detach- 
ed scenes, in which the main plot lies ripening for future action. 



^14 GONDIBERT. 

Rivals are raised in Birtha. Flattering advances from the court, 
and more open declarations of love from Rhoualind, are in vain 
employed to assail the constancy of Gondibert. Various conflicts 
of passion arise, and interesting situations, well imagined, and 
painted in lively colours. Much is given, as in the former parts, 
to the introduction of elevated sentiment; with one example of 
which I shall finish my quotations. Several well born youths are 
placed about the person of Gondibert as his pages, whose edu- 
cation consists of the following great lessons from their lord : 

But with the early sun he rose, and taught 
These youths by growing Virtue to grow great ; 

ShewM greatness is without it blindly sousjht, 
A desperate charge which ends in base retreat. 

He tauglit them Shame, the sudtlen sense nf ill ; 

Sliamc, nature's hasty conscience, which Forbids 
Weak inclination ert- it grows to will. 

Or stays rash will before it grows to deeds. 

He taught them Honour, Virtue's bashfulness; 

A fort so yieldlf'SS that it tears to treat ; 
Like power it grows to nothing, growing less ; 

Honour, the moral conscience of the great. 

He taught them Kindness ; souls civilit 

In which, nor courts, nor cities have a par 
For theirs is fashion, this from falsehood free, 

Where love and pleasure know no lust nor art. 

And Love he taught ; the soul's stol'n visit made 

Tho' froward age watch hard, and l.'*w forbid ; 
Her walks no sjty has trac'd, nor mountain slaid ; 

Her friendsliip's cause is as the loadstone hid. 

He taught them love of Toil ; Toil which does keep 
Obstructions from the mind, and quench the blood ; 

Ease but belongs to us like sleep, and sleep. 
Like opium, is our med'cine, not our food. 

The plot is at length involved in so many intricate and appa- 
rently insurmountable difficulties, that it is scarce possible to 
conceive a satisfactory termination. Perhaps the poet was sen- 
sible of a want of power to extricate himself, and chose thus to 
submit to a voluntary bankruptcy of invention, rather than ha- 
zard his reputation by going further. In his postscript, indeed, 
he excuses himself on account of sickness and approaching dis- 
solution. However disappointed we may be by his abrupt de- 



GONDIBERT. 215 

•parture from scenes which he has filled with confusion, we ought 
not to forget the pleasures already received from them. "If 
(says lie to his reader, with more than the s|)irit of a dying man) 
thou art one of those who has been warmed with poetic fire, I 
reverence thee as my judge.'' From such a judicature, this no- 
ble FRAGMENT would, I doubt not, ac(|uire for him, what the cri- 
tic laments his having lost, "the possession of that true and per- 
manent glory of whicli his large soul appears to have been full."* 



Discourse on Poetical Imitation . 



CRITICAL REMARKS 



THE collection of Poems, termed Dryden's Fables, chiefly 
consists of a miscellany of pieces, partly translations, partly pa- 
raphrases and improvements ; the former from Homer and Ovid, 
the latter from Chaucer and Boccacio. The subjects of the first 
are too well known to readers of poetry to interest by their no- 
velty : they make, therefore, no part of our present consideration, 
which is confined to those of the second class. The latter, in- 
deed, in the common estimation, exclusively possess the claim 
of beinic regarded as the Fables or Tales of the admired Author, 
under which name no one understands pieces of mere classical 
translation. Though less original than perhaps is commonly sup- 
posed, the freedom with which the writer has intermixed his own 
language and sentiments, gives them all the air of originality, 
and they bear the decisive stamp of his genius. 

The records of poetical composition afford few examples of 
mental exertion so remarkable as that which gave birth to these 
pieces. Dryden, who had from early life been an author by pro- 
fession, was induced, either by motives of interest, or by the 
peculiar turn of his studies, to devote his poetical powers chiefly 
to the purposes of religious or political party. He had obtained 
great celebrity by his performances of this kind ; of which the 
principal were " Absalom and Achitophel," a disguised satire 
referring to the state of politics in the court of Charles XL; and 
" The Hind and Panther," a dialogue in the form of a fable, ex- 
hibiting the leading arguments employed by the Romish church 
against those who separated from it. To that church he had be- 
come a convert, when the accession of James II. to the throne 
inspired sanguine expectations of the recovery of its ancient pre- 
dominance in the kingdom. 



DRY DEN. 9A7 

The^ revolution entirely overthrevv these hopes, and at the 
same time gave an ascendancy to those popular principles of go- 
vernment, of which Dryden, during the two preceding reigns, 
had been the virulent oppugner. It was not, therefore, to be 
wondered at, how much soever it might be lamented, that the 
deposed laureat, at the advanced age of sixty-eight, should be 
obliged to seek a subsistence from the exertion of his talents 
and industry. Among other engagements of the literary kind, 
he contracted with the booksellers for a volume of poems, to 
consist of a determinate number of lines, at a payment propor- 
tioned to that number. 

Such was the mercantile transaction that produced his Fables, 
—a set of compositions in which his genius sports at ease, freed 
from the shackles of a political or polemical task ; and which 
affbi'ds every species of poetical excellence that could be derived 
from long experience, joined with unabated vigour. The man- 
lier in which he speaks of his mental constitution at this period, 
though confident, is well justified by the accompanying proofs 
of his ability. " I think myself (says he) as vigorous as ever in 
the faculties of my soul, excepting only my memory, which is not 
impaired to any great degree ; and if I lose not more of It, I 
have no great reason to complain. What judgment I had, in- 
creases rather than diminishes ; and thoughts, such as they are, 
come crowding in so fast upon me, that my only difficulty is to 
choose or to reject." This account is so true, that perhaps no 
other example is to be met with, of the fruits of age partaking so 
much of the character of youth. The full tide and varied flow 
of the verse, the copiousness and splendour of the descriptions, 
the vivacity of the sentiments, and abundance of the allusions, 
all indicate exuberance of fancy and unextinguishable fire, and 
instead of the languor of an ungrateful task, he exhibits the ani- 
mation of one who practises a favourite amusement for his plea- 
sure. He is still that luxuriant evergreen which his own beauti- 
ful lines in " The Flower and the Leaf," so aptly characterise : 

" Ev'n when the vit«l sap retreats below, 
F.v'ii when the hoary head is hid in snow, 
Thi life is in the leaf, and still between 
The fits of falling snows, appears tlie streaky green.^' 

Of the particular pieces in this volume, the author's favourite 
is evidently the heroic poem of Palamon and Arcite, imitated 
E e 



S18 DII^DEN. 

from Chaucer, who, though not the inventor ot the story, svaft 
Dryden's original. He has not scrupled in his preface to pane- 
gyrise it (Chaucer's poem) in terms which will scarcely bear to 
be weighed in the critical balance. Regarding it as a composi- 
tion of the epic class, he compares it with the Iliad and ^neid, 
and affirms that " the story is more pleasing than [that of] either 
of them, the manners as perfect, the diction as poetical, the 
learning as deep and various, and the disposition full as artful." 

This is high praise fi'om one who knew what he was praising; 
but the critical opinions of Dryden are rather sentences formed 
for the occasion, than the well-weighed maxims of a consistent 
literary code. The slory of Palamon and Arcite will, at best, 
bear a comparison with' some episode in a legitimate epic: for a 
love adventure will, I presume, in the judgment of few readers, 
stand in competition with the destruction of one potent empire, 
or the foundation of anot'ier. 

In what sense the writer meant to assert the perfection of its 
manners, it is not easy to divine. Certainly, in the obvious one 
of giving a just representation of the age, country, and persons 
appertaining to the fable, nothing can be further from truth than 
this assertion. Thp manners in the THad are universally allow- 
ed to be the best authority we possess for the state of Greece in 
the early stage of its civilisation. Those of the ^neid present 
a picture of the same kind, but, as framed upon imitation instead 
of observation, less correct. In Palamon and Arcite, the age of 
the rude half-savage hero, Theseus, is converted into the most 
splendid period of chivalry ; such indeed, as it exists in the fables 
of knight errantry, rather than as it ever formed a part of real 
history. Nothing can be more gross and glaring than this ana- 
chronism, to which the language and phraseology are moulded, 
as well as the manners and incidents. 

Perhaps, however, Dryden onlj meant to say, that, after ad- 
mitting this fiction as a poetical license, the assumed manners 
and characters of the piece will be found to be well preserved. 
I doubt, however, if much praise be due to the easy observance 
of consistency in portraitures marked with the uniformity which 
the artificial principles of chivalry necessarily produced. The 
duties of a loyal knight towards his liege lord, his mistress, and 
his antagonist, were laid down with as much precision as the 
rules of a!»y monastic order, and as little permitted the devia- 
tions of particular tempers or opinions. If, in this story, Arcite 



DRY DEN. 219 

'-- represented as the peculiar servant of Mars, and Palamon ol 
Venus, they are both made equally susceptible of the amorous 
passion in its most fanciful and exquisite form, and equally ready 
to renounce all former ties of friendship, and fly to their swords 
in order to decide their respective claims. So exactly, indeed* 
are they balanced, that in the concluding combat, neither does 
Arcite gain, nor Palamon lose, any martial honour. The kings 
of Thrace and India, though studiously contrasted in their figures, 
exhibit no diversity in action, and are, indeed, useless for all 
purposes but those of parade. Emilia, the lady upon the pos- 
session of whom the whole conduct of the fable turns, is a mere 
passive personage, contended for as a prize, without any inter- 
ference of her own inclinations. In this respect she resembles 
the Lavinia of the ^neid ; but the resemblance is of no advan- 
tage to the interest of the piece. During the long period of the 
story, she is passing several years of her prime apparently un- 
noticed and insignificant, though a transient glimpse of her 
charms was capable of inspiring such a romantic passion in her 
unknown lovers. Theseus is a feudal monarch, drawn with con- 
siderable dignity; but if generosity was intended to form part of 
his character, it is blemished by his resolution of keeping the two 
young knights priboueis for life, fur no other crime than the de- 
fence of their country. This unfeeling rigour is aggravated by 
his detention of Palamon after he had consented to the libera- 
tion of Arcite; an incident, however, essentially connected with 
the events of the fable. 

On the whole, the chief merit of this story consists in the co- 
pious fund it affords for various and splendid description ; an ad- 
vantage of which the poet has so well availed himself, that it 
will not be easy to name any work of its compass, ancient or 
modern, comparable to it in this respect. It keeps the imagina- 
tion perpetually on the stretch with the rapid succession of its 
pictures, real and allegorical, with the warmth and bustle of its 
action, and the gorgeous pomp of its scenery. Nor is it desti- 
tute of sentiments appropriate to the situations of the actors, and 
to the survey taken by a spectator of the passing events ; for 
although the piece was originally composed in those ages which 
are considered as little favourable to the human understanding^ 
yet it partakes largely of such learning and such philosophy as 
were then cultivated, and which, perhaps, have been treated with 
Kiore contempt than they deserved. 



2£0 URYDEN. 

The part of Dryden, in his renovation of this tale, is almost 
entirely confined to the language in which he has clothed it; 
for, not only are all its circumstances closely copied from Chau- 
cer, but every ornamental addition, and even every moral reflec- 
tion, is to be found in the work of the old bard, though often but 
rudely sketched or coarsely executed. Even the minute deco- 
rations of poetical diction are frequently transferred from the 
original ; and whole lines are transcribed when the dialect and 
prosody permitted their insertion. Yet Dryden's merit in the 
piece will never be estimated at a low rate by one capable of 
feeling the charms of genuine poetry; for, perhaps, in no com- 
position of the language is there more of that fire and energy 
which hurries the reader along, and makes him a sharer in every 
incident, or more of that force and-brilliancy of colouring which 
brings out every figure, and gives it the fullest effect. If we 
imagine a Raphael, or a Corregio, filling up the outlines of some 
early master, we may form a just conception of what the muse 
of Dryden has effected upon the draught of Chaucer. To the 
epic magnificence of diction he has joined a natural tone of ex- 
pression, proceeding from the intermixture of common words 
and phrases, which is the characterictic of his style, and gives it 
a spirit hardly to be met willi hi thai of any oilier poet. 

Of the versification of this piece, it is enough to say, that it 
possesses every excellence for which the writer is so justly famed. 
The improvements upon the matter of the original are most con- 
spicuous in the sentimental passages, where Dryden has fre- 
quently expanded a bare hint into a weighty and dignified sen- 
tence. Thus, where Theseus, terminating his long oration after 
the death of Arcite, says, in the bald simplicity of the ancient 
bard, 

" What may I conclude of this long serie 
But after soiTOwe I i-ede us to be merie, 
And thankL'n Jupiter for all his grace ?" 

the modern rises in the following lofty strain : 

What then remains, but after past annoj'. 
To tak'- the good vicissitude of joy ; 
To thank the gracious go'ls for what they give. 
Possess cur souls, and while we live, to live ? 

In Paladfon's address to Venus, Dryden has added to the short 
invocatioji of Chaucer, a very beautiful version of some cele- 



DRYDEN. 221 

bfated lines of Lucretius in praise of the same goddess. Arcite's 
prayer to Mars is scarcely less improved, and opens with a tra- 
gic grandeur that finely contrasts with the softness and elegance 
of the former. 

Many of tlie descriptive touches of the modern poet likewise 
greatly eniumce the picturesque effect of the original paintings. 
Thus, when Palamon and Arcite first become enemies, the ex- 
pression of their hatred is strongly marked to the !>ight by Dry- 
den : 

— when tliey met, lliey made a surley stand. 

And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd. 

Among many supposed representations in the temple of Venus, 
of too abstract a nature to be made manifest to the senses, which 
he has rather injudiciously copied from his original, he adds the 
visible forms of 

issuing sighs that smok'd along the wall. 

Chaucer's " porter Idleness" becomes a characteristic figure 
in the hands of Dryden : 

Before the palace-gate, in carel-'ss dress, 
And loose array, sat portress Idleness. 

The " small houndes about the fete" of Diana are, by him, ani- 
mated with the affections of their species. 

And watch vvith upward eyes the motions of their qupen. 

Many more instances of similar embellishment might be cited ; 
and indeed nothing less could be expected from such a master 
in his art, whose attention was solely occupied in beautifying and 
polishing a ready-furnished design. 

In the tale of Sigismonda and Guiscardo, from Boccacio, he 
could derive no store of poetical imagery from his original, whiclx 
is an unadorned narrative in prose ; nor has he aimed at more 
than that middle style of verse which suits the relation of a do- 
mestic occurrence, and the eloquence of sentiment. Force and 
dignity of language, with singular clearness, are his character- 
istics in this story, which keeps close to the Italian author, both 
in the narrative and the sentimental part. In one point, indeed, 
Dryden has better consulted morals and decorum ; which is, that 
he has made a secret marriage precede the accomplishment of 



2£2 DRYDEN. 

the lovers' wishes ; but, on the other hand, he has added so much 
warmth of colouring to the description, that decency cannot upon 
the whole be reckoned a gainer. Female delicacy, indeed, was 
a thing of which he never seems to have entertained a concep- 
tion. The love here painted is simply what the French would 
call amour jjhysiqiie ; a natural and allowable affection, it is true, 
but such as all writers, attentive to the preservation of mental 
purity, have studiously kept out of sight. Dryden, on the con- 
trary, brings it to open view, without any veil to soften its fea- 
tures. The address of Sigismonda to her father after detection, 
the firm and dignified language of which gives it an air of eleva- 
tion, almost incurs the charge of impudence, from the broad and 
vmdisguised confession of feelings which none but the loosest of 
the sex would avow. 

The incidents of this story are, however, striking and pathetiC; 
and the catastrophe is wrought with skill. The address of Sigis 
monda to her lover's heart in the vase, is copied from the Ital 
ian ; but Dryden has not the excuse of Italian conceit for hi^ 
extravagant line — 

My tears shall set thee first afloat withia thy tomb. 

The manner in which she sets about this duty to her lover's 
remains seems to require the serious application of the comic- 
maxim, " Women, when they list, can weep." Dryden has, how- 
ever, made it truly poetical by the beauty of his verses, and the 
simile of the " low-hung clouds." It were to be wished that his 
judgment had rejected the idea of " discharging her head" by the 
flow of tears, which gives an image rather medical than poetical. 
The parallel passage in Boccacio is worth copying, as it will af- 
ford an useful comparison between the writer in prose and the 
writer in verse. 

" Et cosi detto, non ultramente che se una fonte d'acqua nella 
testa havuta havesse, senza fare alcun femminil romore, soprala 
coppa chinatasi piangendo, comincio a versare tante lagrime, che 
mirabil cosa furono a riguardare, basciando infinite volte il morto 
cuore." 

" Thus having spoken, as if there had been a fountain of water 
in her head, bending over the cup, without any feminine lament- 
ation, she shed such an abundance of tears as was wonderful to 
behold, giving innumerable kisses to the dead heart." 

The simplicity is certainly no diminution of the pathetic. 



DUYDEN. 223 

TiiK Cock and the Fox ; or The Tale of the Nun's Pkies i , 
owes almost all its beauty, its learning, and its absurdity, to the 
orio-inal author, Chaucer. The fable, in which birds and beasts 
talk like school-men and divines, bespeaks the taste of the dark 
ages ; a taste which Dryden had sanctioned by his " Hind and 
Panther." Ascribing to the inferior animals the speech and rea 
son of men (the essence of fable) is already such a deviation from 
nature and truth, that an additional improbability costs little 
more to tlie imagination. It must be owned, however, tliat quo 
tations from the philosophers and fathers have a whimsical effect 
in a dialogue between Chanticleer and Partlet. The Latili 
passage, "Mulier est hominis confusio," so complaisantly in- 
terpreted to Partlet, is a piece of waggery literally copied 
from Chaucer ; there is an inconsistency, however, in making 
her unacquainted with Latin, after she had quoted Galen and 
Cato, unless it be supposed, that Dame Partlet's learning, like 
Shakespeare's, was derived from translation. 

The most striking parts of the description in this tale are 
taken from Chaucer with little addition or improvement : the 
lively pictures, for example, of the cock and the fox, are only- 
new varnished by Dryden's versification. The humourous group 
of pursuers of the fox is Chaucer's with the exception of the vicar 
who is introduced with little propriety: and no advantage is 
gained by the more exaggerated terms in which their action is 
described by the modern poet. It is not in his natural, but in 
his intellectual paintings, that the superiority of Dryden appears 
with its proper lustre. Thus, the fine passage respecting the na- 
ture of dreams, 

Dreams are but interlnries that fancy makes, &c. 

is barely suggested by four simple lines of the original. He has 
displayed his theological skill in discussing more at length, and 
with more argumentative precision, the knotty point of predesti- 
nation. It is observable, that he has superadded to the treach- 
erous character of Reynard, the circumstance of religious hypo- 
crisy ; a vice he was always fond of lashing, both in season and 
out of season. 

Like many other amusing fables, it has not much instruction 
to boast of. The most obvious moral deducible from it, is a 



£24 DRYDEN. 

warning a,2:ainst love of flattery. Chaucer to this has added the 
exposure of one 

That j:»nglflh wiicu lliat lie should liold his peace, 

alluding to the folly of the fox, wlio gives the cock an opportu- 
nity of escaping, by opening his mouth to make a speech: but this 
purpose is overlooked or rejected by Dryden. 

In none of these tales does the genius of the poet break out 
with more splendour than in that of Theodore and Honoria, 
from Boccacio. Exclusive of the names, which are different in 
the Italian author, his narrative is exactly followed by Dryden, 
who is an inventor only in the picturesque touches with which 
he has animated the recital. The story in itself is, indeed, highly 
impressive, and full of that romantic wildness which seizes on 
the imagination ; but the effect is greatly enhanced by the art of 
the poet, who has improved every circumstance that might con- 
tribute to the leading emotion, that of terror. The manner in 
which he prepares the reader for the first appearance of the hor- 
rid phantom cannot be too much admired ; 

Wliilst iistfcning to the murm'i-iiig leaves he stood, &cc. 

The singular happiness of the versification in the lines de 
scriptive of the sudden calm and pause in nature, previous to 
the whirlwind which ushered in the apparition, has attracted the 
notice of various critics, and must be felt by every ear sensible 
of the harmony of poetry. The figures of the flying maid, the 
hell-hounds, and the infernal huntsman, are drawn with wonder- 
ful force ; but it must be acknowledged that no small part of the 
praise belongs to the original, which has sketched the same ob- 
jects in a very spirited manner. The passage is worth quotation. 
" Yide venire per un boschetto asai folto d'arbuscelli e di pruni, 
correndo verso il luogo dove egli era, una bellissima giovane 
ignuda, scapigliata e tutla grafliata dalle frasche e dai pruni, 
piagnendo e gridando forte merce ; e oltre a questo le vide a 
fianchi due grandissimi e fieri mastini, liquali duramente appresso 
correndole spesse volte crudelmente dove la giungevano, la 
mordevano; e dietro allei vide venire sopra un corsiere nero un 
cavalier bruno forte nel viso crucciato con uno stocco in mano, 
lei di morte con parole spaventevoii e villane minacciando." 



DKYDEN; 225 

" He saw, issuing from a thicket overgrown with bushes and 
thorns, and running towards the place where he was, a very 
beautiful damsel, naked with dishevelled hair, and all torn with 
the briars and brambles, wailing and crying aloud, ' Mercy !' 
And 1)6 further saw at her flanks two great and fierce mastifFsj 
which running close after her, frequently reached and cruelly 
bit her: behind them he saw riding upon a black courser a dark 
complexioned cavalier, with fury in his countenance, and a 
drawn sword in his hand, threatening her with death in terrible 
and injurious terms." 

Dryden has with good effect made the damsel's cry for mercy 
correspond with the bite of the dogs, and added the superstition 
of the relief produced by invoking the name of Heaven. The 
picture of the knight, too, is finely heightened by the line, 

Willi flashing flames his ardent eyes were fill'd, 

and by the action of cheering his dogs to the chase. 

It is a proof of the poet's extraordinary powers, that he has 
been able to make the second representation of the visionary 
scene scarcely less impressive than the first; it is aided, indeed, 
by the contrast of the splendid feast preceding it, and by the 
presence of Honoria herself to witness it. Dryden has much 
enlarged upon the original in describing the operation of the 
tremendous spectacle on the lady's mind, according to his usual 
practice of dwelling diffusely upon circumstances of mental af- 
fection. Her looking back at every noise, and starting as if she 
heard 



' the horseman-ghost come thund'ring for his prey. 



are strokes of nature. The lessen of the tale was probably the 
least part of the concern of either writer. Its coarse conclusion 
in Dryden is entirely his own. 

The Flower and the Leaf, or. The Lady in the Arbour, 
a vision, from Chaucer, possesses in the original that degree of 
descriptive splendour, which limits the merit of the modern poet 
to little more than improved diction and harmonious versifica- 
tion. The very beautiful introductory picture of spring, as in- 
fluencing the vegetable creation, is, however, Dryden's own, and 
displays the power of a master to throw novelty upon a trite sub- 
ject. The progress of the buds, which at first shrink from the 

Ff 



226 DRYDEN. 

cold blast, and stand "doubting at the door of life," till at length, 
filled with the genial spirit, they expand to the sun, and breathe 
out their souls of fragrance, is delineated with exquisite fancy 
and elegance. 

The scenery of this vision is not less gorgeous than that of the 
Knight's Tale ; and like it, derives most of its brilliancy from 
the costume of chivalry. Dryden seems to riot in description of 
this kind, which he decorates with all the pomp and pride of his 
verse. He professes, however, to have been attracted to this 
tale principallv by its moral, which consists in extolling active 
virtue and fortitude in comparison with inglorious ease and self- 
indulgence. Yet the allegory is confused and obscure, and little 
interest is attached to the action or actors. 

There is no hint in Chaucer of the fairy system adopted by Dry- 
den for the personages in the pageant, and which somewhat re- 
sembles the maciiinery in the Rape of the Lock. Chaucer, in- 
deed, supposes them to have had a prior existence, and identifies 
some of them as the Nine Worthies, the knights of the Round 
Table, the " Douseperis" (twelve peers of Charlemagne), &c. ; 
but he does not concern himself to account for their appearance 
on the present occasion. So far, therefore, the fiction is improved 
by the modern poet. 

Dryden has fallen into a singular inadvertence in giving boivs 
to Arthur's knights, in which he finds an emblematical propriety. 

For bows the strength of brawny arms imply. 

The original, it is true, speaks of their "baring bowes in their 
hand," but these are only the laurel boughs mentioned in the 
beginning of the description, disguised under a different ortho- 
graphy. 

The comparison between the qualities of the leaf and of the 
flower is wrought by Dryden with much beauty, and the moral 
is well pointed ; yet the fable upon the whole partakes of the 
languor usually attached to allegory, and probably will to most 
readers appear the least entertaining in the collection, though 
certainly not the least poetical. 

The keen and lively sarcasm against the priesthood with which 
the Wife of Bath's Tale opens, is found in the original author, 
Chaucer: butitso well suited the disposition of his moderniser, that 
he has given it with enlargements. The " midnight parson post- 
ing o'er the green with gown tucked up to wakes'' is a figure of 



DRYDEN. SL9J7 

his own invention, by which he doubtless meant to extend his 
satire to the clergy of his own time ; but he did not reflect that 
the same person could not consistently sustain the part of Chau- 
cer's friar, who "bids his beads both even-song and morn." 

The subsequent story is related by Dryden in a paraphrasti- 
cal manner, with free license of invention. One of his added 
passages is remarkable, as it alludes to that species of apology 
for his own licentiousness in writing, which the attacks of Col- 
lier and others had forced from him. 

Then courts of kings were held in high renown, 

Ere mt.de the common brothels of the town : 

There virgins honourable vows receiv'd. 

But chaste as maids in monasteries liv'd : 

The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, 

JSTo bad example to his poets gave : 

And they, not bad but in a vicious age. 

Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage. 

At this time he was, indeed, if not cured by age and reflection 
of his propensities, yet awed into some regard for decorum ; and 
he has taken credit in his preface for abstaining from versifying 
Chaucer's prologue to this very tale, which was afterwards one 
of Pope's juvenile exercises. 

The story of Midas, introduced by the way of illustration, is 
enlivened with some humourous strokes, not very reverential to 
royalty ; for Dryden, though accustomed to use the language of 
the most obsequious courtier, appears in his heart to have re- 
garded the distinctions of rank and birth, as they will always be 
looked upon by the man who is conscious of possessing, in his 
own mind, something intrinsically superior to both. 

In the progress of the tale, after the beldam has agreed with 
the knight to furnish him with a solution of the queen's ques- 
tion, Dryden adds a circumstance of which there is no vestige 
in the original. He makes her spread her mantle on the ground, 
and seat the knight and herself upon it, when they are conveyed 
with a wish to King Arthur's court. This fiction, apparently 
borrowed from the Arabian Nights, is not unsuitable to the fairy 
machinery on which the tale is founded ; yet it seems to injure 
the final effect, by anticipating supernatural powers, which should, 
have remained concealed from the knight till the concluding trial 
of his obedience. 

The " long sermon," as Dryden justly calls it, of the bride on 



2^8 DRYDEN. 

the wedding night, is greatly amplified by the modern writer, par- 
ticulaily with respect to the topic of nobility. As this is also 
discussed at length in the story of Sigismonda and Guiscardo, 
he has thought it necessary to apologise in his preface for the re- 
petition, which he imputes to the failure of his memory. In the 
present instance he has borrowed some thoughts from Juvenal, an 
author with whom he was familiar as a translator. The beautiful 
metaphor in which nobility is termed 

a long trail of light to thee descending down, 

is the product of his own fancy. 

The tale of Cymon and Iphigenia, from Boccacio, begins 
with an apologetical preface, in which the poet, in his own name, 
defends himself from the " severe divine" who had inveighed 
against the licentiousness of his verse, and retorts upon him in a 
way that displays more irritation than penitence. His praise of 
virtuous love, however, is equally just and noble, and forms a 
suitable prelude to a story, of which the animating eflfects of that 
passion are the subject. 

All the incidents of the tale, as well as many of the descrip- 
tive beauties, are copied from the Italian. The natural circum- 
stance of Cymon's quarter-staff, which appears truly English, is 
taken from the " bastone in collo'' of Boccacio ; but the happy 
line. 

He whistled as he went for want of thought, 

is Dryden's addition. In the picture of the sleeping nymph, he 
has exerted his utmost skill ; and every reader, sensible to the 
charms of versification, will admire the lines in which the "fan- 
ning wind" and the " rising bosom" are so melodiously alterna- 
ted. The apt simile of the light running through chaos, by which 
the sudden effect ot love upon the sluggish soul of Cymon is il- 
lustrated, is original in our poet ; yet it might have been suggest- 
ed by the 

* Ignea rima micans percurrit lumine ninabos" 
of Virgil. That of the pilgrim who 

— — — stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of day, 

is another of his poetical contributions. 



DRYDEN. 229 

His propensity to exaggerate in all his paintings has led him 
too much to multiply epithets denoting the stupidity of the new 
lover, such as "the man beast," " the fool of nature," "the sla- 
vering cudden." The miracle of creating sense in an absolute 
idiot is too great for even love to effect ; and the more modest 
wonder of rousing to action the latent seeds of intellect, affords 
suflBcient scope for the encomiast of that passion. This, indeed, 
is the liirht in which the change produced in Cymon is afterwards 
viewed ; for Dryden, varying a little from the poetical imagery 
of the original, thus describes the operation of the new agent in 
his soul : 

What then of nitered Cymon sliall we say. 
But that ihf fire which chok'c) in ashes lay, 
A load loo heavy for his >oul to move, 
Was upward blown helow^ and brvish'd away by love? 

Tlie subsequent events of the fable will not bear a rigourous 
examination in a moral view, since the sole maxim they inculcate 
is, that every thing is lawful to lovers. The ladies are to deter- 
mine how far Dryden has improved the story by representing 
Iphigenia as a willing prey to the ravishers, of which no symp- 
tom appears in the narration of Boccacio : it may, however, be 
presumed, that his habitual coarseness of sentiment, with respect 
to feminine attachments, will excite their displeasure, and that 
they will disavow the line 

She hugg'tl th' offender, and forgave Ih' offence. 

The modest Italian takes care to inform his reader, that Cymon 
lost his newly gained Iphigenia, "senza altro haverle tolto, che 
alcun bascio" — having taken nothing from her but a few kisses. 
Tney who are acquainted with Dryden's manner and princi- 
ples will not doubt that the lively satire on the " rude militia raw 
in fields" is ail his own. When this is compared with what he 
has said of the regular soldiers of Tancred, 

Dangerous fo freedom, and desir'd alone 
By kings who seek an arbitrary throne, 

in which he doubtless alluded to the guards of King William, it 
will curiously exemplify the inconsistencies of a party spirit. 

The sudden changes of fortune in this story render it interest- 
ing, though its bloody catastrophe is displeasing, and we feel a 



230 DRYDEN. 

repugnance to ally the cause of Cymon with that of Lysimachuh 
which has no colour of right or justice. 

By way of atonement for his perpetual vein of satire against 
the clergy, Dryden has wrought with uncommon care his Cha- 
racter OF A GOOD Parson, imitated and enlarged from that of 
Chaucer in the prologue to his Canterbury Tales. The features 
are essentially the same as those of the original ; nor is there one 
truly pastoral virtue added to the draught of the ancient poet ; 
but Dryden's has a more sanctified air, and is more conformable 
to the Roman Catholic model. Chaucer is contented to praise 
the patience with which he submitted to indigent circumstances; 
while his imitator thinks it necessary to add the merit of volun- 
tary abstinence : the first makes his parson charitable to the 
poor ; the second represents him as renouncing every idea of pro- 
perty, and regarding all he received as part of the public store. 

The beautiful similies and illustrations with which Dryden's 
portrait is interspersed, are his own, one excepted, which alludes 
to the superior degree of holiness required in the clerical cha- 
racter, thus expressed in the original : 

"And this figure he added yet thereto, 
That if gold rustes, what shuid irtii do ?" 

The salvo for papal power, under the notion of the double reign 
of St. Peter's successor, is an offering paid by the convert to his 
Jiew faith : Chaucer, addicted to the principles of Wickliffe, was 
not likely to give a sanction to Romish usurpation. 

All the latter part of Dryden's piece is an addition, evidently 
referring to the nonjuring clergy under King William. It sup- 
ports the doctrine of indefeasible right to the crown in the lineal 
heirs, anil the consequent duty of subjects to conform to it: 

That the title stood entail'd,had Richard had a son ? 

What he stigmatises as " the senseless plea of right by provi- 
dence," invented by "a flattering priest," must allude to the 
injudicious defence of William's succession to the throne, by 
Bishop Burnet. Of this plea, Dryden justly observes, that it 

lasts no longer than the present sway. 

But justifies the next who comes in play. 

His picture of the priest after he had voluntarily quitted his 
benefice, extending, like a primitive apostle, his care of souls 



DRYDEN. 231 

throughout the land, is highly interesting, and was pi'obably drawn 
from the life. Whatever be thought of the judgment or consis- 
tency of the nonjuring clergy, it cannot be denied that some of 
them were bright examples of pious resignation under sufferings 
for conscience sake. 

Such are the varied contents of this noble production of Dry- 
den's old age. At a similar late period of life, Milton wrote his 
Paradise Lost. The two works will bear no comparison in point 
of magnitude and grandeur ; yet those beauties in detail, for 
which alone such a design as that of renovating and adorning an- 
cient writings affords scope, are not less conspicuous in Dryden's 
Fables, than the higher qualities of poetry are in the master- 
piece of Milton. All that at any time constituted the charac- 
teristic excellence of Dryden's muse, appears in full perfection 
in these autumnal fruits; and it is impossible to conceive a time 
whilst English poetry shall continue to be cultivated, when the 
harmony of numbers and splendour of diction in these pieces, 
shall cease to inspire admiration and delight. 



OBSERVATIONS 

ON 

POPE'S 



OF the poems of Pope, none perhaps is more celebrated in 
popular fame, none has afforded more passages for storing in 
the memory, and applying on common occasions, than the Essay 
ON Man. It cannot, therefore, be an uninteresting topic, to in- 
quire what has given it such a share of the public approbation ; 
and how its author has contrived to render it at the same time 
the favourite of the graver part, and the admiration of the more 
polished, of his readers. 

The work is by the writer himself represented as a short sys- 
tem of ethics, which he might as well have composed in prose as 
in verse, had he not preferred the latter for two reasons ; — one, 
that principles and maxims when versified are more impressive^ 
and adhere more firmly in the memory; the other, that he was 
able to express himself with more brevity in verse than in prose. 
With respect, then, to the subject itself, it appears that he did 
not select it on account of any peculiar fitness he discerned in 
it to become the ground-work of a poem ; but, that, having 
chosen it for another reason, he gave it the clothing of verse, as 
in his opinion the most advantageous. And this representation 
nearly coincides with the received fact, that the work was sug- 
gested to him by his friend, Lord Bolingbroke, who sketched out 
the plan, and furnished most of the materials, with the intention 
of ushering into the world a system of his own, decorated with 
the poetry of Pope. Bolingbroke had himself sufficient vigour 
of imagination and brilliancy of style to have written a prose 
essay which might engage the attention of persons fond of moral 
and philosophical speculation; but by judiciously borrowing the 



POPE. 233 

Muse of Pope, lie has (liflTnsed his sentiments on these topics 
through all classes and ages of English literature; has made 
Ihem familiar to our early and our mature conceptions ; and 
stamped them in indelible characters on the language of the 
country. This conversion of a dry and argumentative subject 
into a splendid and popular one, is a miracle of the poetic art; 
and an inquiry into the means by which it has been effected will 
probably go far into the elucidation of that essential character of 
poetical composition which distinguishes it from prose. 

On taking a survey of the Essay on Man for the purpose of 
marking and arranging its most striking passages, it will proba- 
bly be found that they are reducible to three principal heads. 
1st. A maxim, proposition, or sentence often occurs, presented 
in the naked simplicity of philosophical language, but so concen- 
tred by nervous brevity, and rounded by the harmonious struc- 
ture of the verse, that it sinks into the mind with the same kind 
of force that a weighty and polished ball penetrates solid matter. 
It would be easy from every epistle to adduce examples of this 
excellence. Tims, speaking of the Deity, he says, 

To him no h g!i, no low, no great, no small; 
He tills, he buuu<ls, connects, and equals all : 

Of Man ; 

Tlu glory, jest, anel riddle of the world : 
Born but to die, and reas'uing but to err : 

Of Providence ; 

All Nature is but Art unknown to thee; 

AH Chance, Di'-ection which thou canst not see ; 

All UiJ^cord, Harnaony not understood ; 

All [lartial Evil, universal Good. 

In this style most of the purely argumentative parts are writ- 
ten; and so superior was Pope to all other authors, whether in 
verse or prose, in this respect, that his sincere friend and ad- 
mirer, Swift, selects this faculty as his distinguishing excel- 
lence : 

" When Pope can in one couplet fix 
More sense than I can do in six ;" 

yet Swift himself was by no means a feeble or prolix writer. 
Now, as nothing comes more home to the minds of men in gene- 
ral, or is more universally congenial to the taste of readers, than 



234 POPE. 

a moral sentiment or religious truth forcibly and clearly express- 
ed, it is probably to the copious admixture of passages of this 
kind tliat the Essay on Man is indebted for the greater part of 
its popularity. These are the clauses of sterling weight and 
eftect, which impress those who are little disposed to enter into 
a train of argumentation, or who have little sensibility to poetic 
beauties. 

But the mere faculty of compressing sense into a small com- 
pass and putting it into harmonious measure, admirable as it is 
for the moral writer, goes but a short way in forming the poet. 
For this last character Pope is greatly indebted, 2dly, to that 
splendour of diction, which illuminates an intellectual truth by 
associating it with some kindred sensible object of the sublime 
or beautiful class. It is this which gives life and motion to lan- 
guage ; and superadds to its simple purpose of conveying the re- 
quisite ideas, that of gratifying the imagination with a rajud 
succession of striking figures. Scarcely any writer has surpass- 
ed Pope in this quality, which is indeed of the very essence of 
poetry. He studied it with all the assiduity of a professor of his 
art; and his critics and annotators have brought to light won- 
derful proofs of his attention to enrich his language with the 
spoils of all ages and countries. It is not easy to open this work 
at a single page which will not furnish examples of just and 
noble expressions of the figurative kind, serving to impart that 
vivid colouring to his diction which renders it so enchanting to 
the lover of poetry. Two or three examples will serve to illus- 
trate my meaning. 

Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forntis. 
Who heaves okl Ocean, and whoiw'jig-s the storms. 
Pours fierce ambition in a Csesar's mind, 
Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind ? 

Let Earth unbalanc''d from her otbit^!/. 
Planets and suns run laivkss thro' the sky, 
Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurVd, 
Being on being ■wreck'd, and world on world. 

For him alone Hope leads from goal to goal, 
And opens still and opens on his soul ; 
Till lengthen''d on to Faith, and unconfin'd, 
Itpours the bliss that fills up all the mind. 

Oh whilf along the stream of Time thy name 
Expandedii\es,and gathers a.l\ its (ame, 



POPE. 235 

Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, 
Pursue the triumph. unA partake tlie gale P 

It may be pi-esumed unnecessary to point out more particularly 
the force of these vet'ba ardentia, these " thouglits that breathe, 
ind vvoj'cls that burn," to any one capable of relishing true poetry. 

A third expedient employed by Pope to diversify and enliven 
his subject, is the introduction of little pictures and incidents 
by way of illustration, which are generally conceived with great 
happiness, and wrought witli peculiar care. Of this kind is, the 
sportive lamb unconscious of his approaching fate ; the Indian 
savage indulging his humble expectations of future existence; 
the enumeration by pride of the benefits of nature designed for 
Man; the progress of superstition ; and the histoiical allusions 
to the vanity of human grandeur. These form an agreeable re- 
lief to the train of precept or argument, and essentially add to 
the poetical character of the work. 

It is in this manner that an ethical treatise, in its transmis- 
sion from the mind of a philosopher to that of a poet, has assum- 
ed a new dress, and has accommodated itself to a new set of 
readers ; nor, perhaps, does the history of the art of poetry af- 
ford a clearer example of its powers and limits. Its powers have 
been, to render a subject, involved in system and argument, not 
only popular and familiar, but prolific of sublime and beautiful 
passages which are become interwoven into the very body of na- 
tional literature, and have given a tinge to national opinion - 
and after such a proof of ability, if Pope's title to the honours of 
a poet of the very first order be disputed, it can only be by those 
who have framed an artificial classification of poetic merits, in 
which they have placed at the head of the scale those efforts of 
pure imagination which are scarcely compatible with the noblest 
exertions of the understanding. The limits of the art, however, 
are almost as strongly marked in this perforina^^ce, as its pow- 
ers ; for it is to a too pertinacious attempt of arguing in verse, 
and displaying all the acuteness of a philosophical disputant, 
that may be attributed the many prosaic lines, mean exprtissionSi 
inaccuracies of construction, and detects in the mechanism of 
versification, which render this piece but an unfavourable speci- 
men of that high polish and correctness which are supposed pe- 
culiarly to characterise the author, and which in some of his 
poems he has almost uniformly exhibifcd. Indeed, there are 
sufficient tokens that the work was undertaken as a task — that 



J236 POPE. 

the writer was occasionally tired or bewildered in following his 
argument — and that the poet and system builder did not always 
happily draw together: but these remarks lead to the consi- 
deration of another topic, the proper subject or matter of this 
Essay. 

Concerning the system of ethics contained in the Essay on 
Man, much has been written ; and in particular, the learned pre- 
late who undertook the office of editor to Pope's miscellaneous 
works has bestowed much pains upon it in the elaborate notes 
and commentary accompanying the text. But erudition and 
acuteness are not the only requisites of a good commentator. 
That conformity of sentiment which enables him fully to enter 
into the intention of his author, and that fairness of disposition 
which places him above every wish of disguising or misrepre- 
senting it, are qualifications not less essential. In these points 
it is no breach of candour to affirm (since the public voice has 
awarded the sentence) that Dr. Warburton has in various of his 
critical labours shown himself extremely defective ; and perhaps 
in none more than in those he has expended upon this perform- 
ance ; his manifest purposes in which have been, to give it a sys- 
tematic perfection that it does not possess, to conceal as much, 
as possible the suspicious source whence the author derived his 
leading ideas, and to reduce the whole to the standard of moral 
orthodoxy. So much is the sense of the poet strained and warp- 
ed by these processes of his commentator, that it is scarcely 
possible in many places to enter into his real meaning, without 
laying aside the commentary, and letting the text speak for 
itself. 

Somewhat, however, of an analytical view of the subject and 
reasoning, connected by such a chain of method as is clearly 
deducible from the work itself, cannot but be useful by way of 
preparing the reader, who perhaps may be little conversant with 
argumentative topics, for comprehending it as a v/hole. And 
■this I shall endeavour to supply by a prefatory sketch of the con- 
tents, drawn up with as much brevity as is consistent with the 
purpose in view. 

The Essay on Man is divided into four epistles. Of these, 
the first peculiarly treats of Man with respect to the place he 
holds in the universe ; and the principal topic is the refutation 
of all objections against the wisdom and benevolence of that 
providence which placed him here, derived from the weakness 



POPE. 237 

and imperfection of liis nature. After a dignified e\ordium, in 
which the poet invites his friend to accompany him in a survey 
of the whole, "scene of Man," with the final intention of justify- 
ing the ways of God towards him, (which is to be regarded as 
the general subject of the entire F^ssay) — he proceeds to some 
remarks on the impossibility of comprehending, with the limited 
faculties of the human mind, the plan of Deity in framing the 
system of the universe; and he sets in strong contrast the omni- 
science of the Creator against the ignorance of the creature. Yet, 
in laying it down as a principle, that " we can can reason only 
from what we know," he seems to invalidate some of his own 
conjectural arguments concerning that ordei' of the universe 
which is to account for apparent partial defects. The leading 
idea running through this book, is that of a scale of bemgs, rising 
in due gradation one above another, all bearing a relation to the 
great whole, and each endowed with the faculties proper for its 
station. In such a scale, there must be such a being as Man ; and 
there is, therefore, no more reason to wonder that he is not ele- 
vated higher, than that he is raised so high. That he is best fitted 
for the place he occupies, is attempted to be shown by various 
striking observations ; and much lively correction is bestowed 
upon that pride which inclines us to believe the whole creation 
made for our use alone, and leads us rather to form vain wishes 
for unattainable perfections, than to accommodate ourselves to 
our present lot. After a very noble description of the divine attri- 
butes, and an exhortation to pious trust in an over-ruling Pro- 
vidence, the book concludes with asserting as a clear deduction 
from the whole, the great axiom that whatever is, is right. That 
this conclusion is strictly warranted by the premises, and that 
the mode of proof is the best that could be devised in point of 
cogency and arrangement, will probably be called in question by 
logical reasoners ; but the wonderful energy of some of the pas- 
sages, and the poetical splendour of others, are so calculated for 
effect on the mind of the reader, that he must be cold indeed 
who does not rise from the perusal impressed and animated. 
Perhaps, if a person were called upon to exhibit an example of 
the utmost power of the English language in fulness, strength, 
and dignity of expression, he could not choose more happily than 
those lines near the close of this epistle in which the Deity is 
represented as the soiif of the universe. 

The second epistle begins with pointing out " the proper study 



238 POPE. 

of mankind," namely, themselves ; yet it cannot be said that Ihe 
bold contrast drawn between the powers of the human mind, on 
the one part, and its weakness on the other, is highly encouraging. 
If Newton, with the wonderful reach of his intellectual faculties, 
were unable to " describe or fix one movement of his mind,'' 
■what other man may hope for success in an investia;ation of his 
own nature ? Notwithstanding, however, these sarcasms against 
human wisdom, apparently drawn from the school of Charron, 
the poet proceeds seriously to the subject of his epistle ; and 
having stated the two principles which rule over Man, self love 
and reason, he goes on to show the character and office of each, 
and their opposition or concurrence in influencing human con- 
duct. Self-love he calls the moving principle which excites to 
action, on which account it is made the strongest ; reason is the 
comparing and restraining principle; the objects of the former 
are some immediate good ; of the latter, some remote or conse- 
quential good. Both hav^e the same general ends of attaining 
pleasure and avoiding pain. But surely this representation is 
inaccurate ; for self-love and reason stand in no sort of opposi- 
tion to each other ; and the second is rather an instrument em- 
ployed by the first, the better to effectuate its ends, than a dis- 
tinct principle of action. Reason is more properly opposed to 
the passions ; which Pope justly terms modes of self-love, all hav- 
ing for their object some real or supposed good. These, he says, 
duly tempered and blended, give " all the strength and colour of 
our life." Adopting, however, the theory which he has more 
particularly opened in one of his moral epistles, he asserts the 
existence of a master passion, which swallows up the rest, and 
may be regarded as the innate disease of the mind, from every 
faculty of which it derives fresh nourishment. Yet instead of 
attempting to eradicate this leading propensity, he advises to 
follow " nature's road," and content ourselves with keeping it in 
proper bounds ; for our passions, and even vices, by means of 
due culture, are convertible into our surest virtues. The poet 
here admits that notion of the ancient moralists, which supposes 
the limits of virtue and vice to be blended in such a manner, as 
to render it impossible to say where one ends and the other be- 
gins ; or rather, wiiich makes every vice only the extreme of 
some virtue. Thus, that ruling passion which is in some in- 
staiii es our leading vice, is in Others our leading virtue; and 
every Man is both virtuous and vicious in degree. He concludes 



POPE. 239 

with showing how, in the scheme of Providence, the different 
passions, propensities, follies and defects of Men, are all made 
to conspire to the general good — how the ties of mutual aid and 
interest are by their means drawn more closely — and how at 
length they reconcile Man to the loss of a being so full of im- 
perfection. Finally, he enumerates the various kinds of happi- 
ness arising from the variety of Men's tempers and pursuits, and 
from the changes of object that accompany the different stages 
of life in each individual ; and his inference from the whole mat- 
ter is, that " though Man is a fool, God is wise." This book is 
not remarkable for its poetical beauties. Its language is mostly 
that of argument and simple illustration, and the subject is pur- 
sued with scarcely any digression. Some of the concluding 
lines, however, are eminently beautiful ; yet it is not easy to say 
what moral effect the author meant to produce by them. If 
Man's folly is equally conspicuous in all he does ; if his weak- 
nesses are made the instruments of his happiness ; if "in folly's 
cup still laughs the bubble joy," and " not a vanity was given in 
vain,'' it would seem very fruitless to attempt by artificial wis- 
dom to correct the designed and inherent defects of our nature. 
The third epistle begins by assuming, as the result of what has 
preceded, " that the Deity acts to one end, though by various 
laws :'' in other words, his aim is the production of general good, 
but by different, and sometimes apparently opposite, means; of 
which, instances have been given in the various passions and pro- 
pensities of Mankind. The author next, in the superior strain 
of poetry, resumes a former topic, and shows how all the parts of 
nature, by an universal chain of connection, contribute to the 
advantage of each other, and of the whole. He again, likewise, 
by various striking examples, aims at mortifying that pride of 
Man which induces him to regard the whole creation as made for 
his sake alone ; and he exhibits the benefits which even the ani- 
mals subjected to human dominion are made to derive from it. 
These reflections lead him to mark the limits between reason 
and instinct; and in various beautiful instances he exemplifies 
the operation of the latter principle, always exactly adapted to 
its purpose, and to nothing further. In Man, as in other animals, 
self-love, modified by instinct, is the origin of the conjugal and 
the parental connection ; but in the human creature, I'eason takes 
up, improves, and prolongs the union thus formed, and carries 
it on to be the foundation of all the charities of life. Hence the 



240 POPE. 

poet f?kes occasion to fall into a description of the earliest aj2;es 
of Man, when he was yet in the state of nature, which he paints 
in all the pleasing colours usually appropriated to the golden 
age, and especially characterises by that kind of fellowship with 
the beasts which made them "joint tenants of the shade," and 
forbad the slaughtering of animals for food or sacrifice. The 
next stage was that in which art gradually arose, the first efforts 
of which are attributed to imitation of the instinctive manners 
and actions of brutes. These ideas of the author will probably 
appear rather poetical than philosophical, and confirmed neither 
by history nor analogy. He speculates with more probability 
■when he proceeds to the rise of societies and governments ; when 
he describes the progress from patriarchs to kings, and displays 
the origin of a pure and simple theism, deduced either from rea- 
son or tradition, and which represented the D^ity as an object 
of love, not of fear. This happy state of things was at length 
subverted by force, which introduced the law of tyrants and sup- 
ported itself by a leao;ue formed with that superstition which now 
began to take place of primitive religion. The origin and effects 
of this debasing principle are described by Pope with all the 
poetic fire of Lucretius, directed and concentrated by his own 
nervous sense. He then shows, how the same self-love which 
nourishes the inordinate lust of power in an individual, operates 
on the general body, to check and control it. 'I'hus are formed 
those generous spirits who employ themselves in endeavours to 
instruct and enlighten mankind; and in this manner the jarring 
interests of individuals unite to produce the harmony of the 
whole. The conclusion is, that in the comprehensive scheme of 
Providence, self-love and the social principle are the same. This 
book is highly poetical. Dwelling more upon illustration than 
reasoning, it has drawn from a variety of sources pictures of 
beauty and sublimity, coloured with all the splendour of language 
proper to the author. Its sentiments, too, are elevated and 
generous; and though the accuracy of some may be disputed, 
the effect of the whole is in unison with the best feelings of the 
heart. 

The fourth epistle opens with an eloquent address to happi- 
ness, the search after which is its interesting subject. The poet, 
after finding that happiness is fixed to no one spot or condition 
of life, soon comes to the conclusion that it belongs equally to 
all. He finds, too, that a man cannot be made happy without 



POPE. 241 

the participation of others; and therefore, "happiness subsists 
not in the good of one,. but of all." Order, " Heaven's first law," 
has made differences of rank and endowments among mankind 
necessary ; but it does not thence follow that there must be the 
same ine(|uality in point of happiness. The essential goods of 
life are all included in " health, peace, and competence," of 
which the two former consist with virtue alone. The gifts of 
fortune belong equally to the good and bad, but the former are 
best qualified to enjoy them. These positions lead the author 
to a very feeling eulogy on virtue, the influence of which in be- 
stowing bliss is such, that there was no necessity of exempting 
the good man from the common ills of life, or of elevating hini 
to a superiority of condition. This strain of reasoning is suc- 
ceeded by a splendid amplification of the philosophical doctrine, 
that honour and shame arise from no particular station, but that 
all true glory proceeds from well filling the allotted part, what- 
ever it may be. The poet pursues difference of fortune through 
all the circumstances of title, birth, rank, fame, and parts; and 
proves, by a variety of illustrious examples, how insufficient 
without virtue are advantages in all these respects to secure fe- 
licity. Concluding these illustrations with the fundamental 
truth, that " virtue alone is happiness below," he recurs to his 
former doctrine of the conversion of self-love to social ; and he 
deduces the principle of universal benevolence from the progress 
to be traced in the mind of the virtuous man through the seve- 
ral stages and degrees of partial aftection. With this, he unites 
the hope of renovated happiness in a future state ; and thus com- 
pletes the scale of man's supreme felicity, as connected with the 
greatest elevation of virtue A most finished and beautiful apos- 
trophe to his "guide, philosopher, and friend," with a brief sum- 
mary of the topics of the several epistles, terminates the poem. 

From the preceding analysis of the Essay on Man, the reader 
will probably find himself at a loss to deduce that exquisite chain 
of argumentation, that lucid method, which are with so much 
evident labour attempted to be traced out by the Right Reve- 
rend commentator. He will rather discern a writer, made a sys- 
tem-builder by accident, but a poet by nature, taking up a grand 
and copious topic, well adapted in parts for the display of his 
genius, but as a whole belonging to a very ditferent class of com- 
posers. He will see him exhibiting a great variety of powers ac- 
cording to the exigencies of his subject; sometimes close, con- 
H h 



£4i2 POPE. 

cise, nervous, aud sententious ; sometimes copious, espausive, 
and brilliant ; — now enchanting by elegance and beauty, now 
commanding by dignity and sublimity. The work itself he will 
probably esteem as one of the noblest productions, not only of 
its author, but of English poetry ; and amidst all its defects, he 
■will rejoice that the writer was induced to exercise his talents 
in a walk so new, and in many respects so well suited to them. 
In fine, if he does not choose to derive his ethical system from the 
Essay on ^Jan, he will again and again have recourse to it as a 
storehouse of great and generous sentiments ; and he will never 
rise from its perusal without feeling his mind animated with the 
love of virtue, and improved in benevolence towards his fellow 
creatures, and piety towards his Creator. 



AN ESSAY 

ON THE 

PLAN AND CHARACTER 

OF 



WHEN a work of art to masterly execution adds novelty ot 
design, it demands not only a cursory admiration, but such a 
mature inquiry into the principles upon which it has been formed, 
as may determine how far it deserves to be received as a model 
for future attempts in the same walk. Originals are always rare 
productions. The performances of artists in general, even of 
those M'ho stand high in their respective classes, are only imita- 
tions ; which have more or less merit, in proportion to the degree 
of skill and judgment with which they copy originals more or less 
excellent. A good original, therefore, forms an gera in the art 
itself; and the history of every art divides itself into periods 
comprehending the intervals between the appearance of diflferent 
approved originals. Sometimes, indeed, various models of a 
very difterent cast may exercise the talents of imitators during 
a single period ; and this will more frequently be the case, as 
arts become more generally' known and studied ; difference of 
taste being ahvays the result of liberal and varied pursuit. 

How strongly these periods are marked in the history of Poe- 
try, both ancient and modern, a cursory view will suffice to show. 
The scarcity of originals here is universally acknowledged and 
lamented, and the present race of poets are thought particularly 
chargeable with this defect. It ought, however, to be allowed in 
their favour, that if genius has declined, taste has improved; and 
that if they imitate more, they choose better models to copy after. 

That Thomson's Seasons is the original whence our modern 
descriptive poets have derived that more elegant and correct style 



244 THOMSON. 

of painting- natural objects which distinguishes them from their 
imnu'diate predecessors, will, I think, appear evident to one who 
cxaiuines their several casts and manners. That none of them, 
however, have yet equalled their master; and that his perform- 
ance is an exquisite piece, replete with beauties of the most en- 
gaging and delightful kind ; will be sensibly felt by all of con- 
genial taste : — and perhaps no poem was ever composed which 
addressed itself to the feelings of a greater number of readers. 
It is, therefore, on every account an object well worthy the at- 
tention of criticism ; and an inquiry into the peculiar nature of 
its plan and the manner of its execution may be an agreeable in- 
troduction to a re-perusal of it in the elegant edition now offer- 
ed to the public. * 

The description of such natural objects as by their beauty^ 
grandeur, or novelty, agreeably impress the imagination, has, at 
all times, been a principal and favourite occupation of Poetry. 
Various have been the methods in which such descriptions 
have been introductd. They have been made subservient 
to the purposes of ornament and illustration, in the more 
elevated and abstracted kinds of Poetry, by being used as 
objects of similitude. They have constituted a pleasing and 
necessary part of epic narration, when employed in forming 
a scenery suitable to the events. The simple tale of pasto- 
ral life could scarcely without their aid be rendered in any 
degree interesting. The precepts of an art, and the systems of 
philosophers, depend upon the adventitious ornaments afforded 
by them for almost every thing which c,;au render them fit sub- 
jects for poetry. . -v 

Thus intermixed as they are with almost all, and essential to 
some species of poetry, it was however thought that they could 
not legitimately constitute the whole, or even the principal part, 
of a capital piece. Something of a more solid nature was re- 
quired as the ground -work of a poetical fabric; pure description 
was opposed to sense; and binding together the wild flowers 
which grew obvious to common sight and touch, was deemed a 
trifling and unprofitable amusement. 

Such was the state of critical opinion, when Thomson publish- 
ed, in succession, but not in their present order,* the pieces whicii 
compose his Seasons; the first capital work in which natural de- 

* They apiieared in tlie following oi-Jcr: IVinter, Summer. Spring-, Autumn. 



THOMSON. 245 

scription was professedly the principal object. To paint the 
face of nature as changing through the changing seasons ; to 
mark the approaches and trace the progress of these vicissi- 
tudes, in a series of landscapes all formed upon images of gran- 
deur or beauty ; and to give animation and variety to the whole 
by interspersing manners and incidents suitable to the scenery ; 
appears to be tlje general design of this poem. Essentially dif- 
ferent from a didactic piece, its business is to describe, and the 
occupation of its leisure to teach. And as in the Georgics, when- 
ever the poet lias for a while, borne away by the warmth of fancy, 
wandered through the flowery wilds of description, he suddenly 
checks himself, and returns to the toils of the husbandman ; so 
Thomson, in the midst of his delightful lessons of morality, and 
affecting relations, recurs to a view of that state of the season 
which introduced the digression. 

It is an attention to this leading idea, that in this piece there 
is a progressive series of descriptions, all tending to a certain 
point, and all parts of a general plan, which alone can enable us 
to range through the vast variety and quick succession of objects 
presented in it, with any clear conception of the writer's method^ 
or true judgment concerning what may be regarded as forward- 
ing his main purpose, or as merely ornamental deviation. The 
particular elucidation of this point will constitute the principal 
part of the present Essay. 

Although each of the Seasons appears to have been intended 
as a complete piece, and contains within itself the natural order 
of beginning, middle, and termination, yet, as they were at length 
collected and modelled by their author, they have all a mutual 
relation to each other, and concur in forming a more comprehen- 
sive whole. The annual space in which the earth performs its 
revolution round the sun is so strongly marked by nature for a 
perfect period, that all mankind have agreed in forming their 
computations of time upon it. In all the temperate climates of 
the globe, the four seasons are so many progressive stages in 
this circuit, which, like the acts in a well constructed drama, 
gradually disclose, ripen, and bring to an end the various busi- 
siness transacted on the great theatre of nature. The striking- 
analogy which this period with its several divisions bears to the 
course of human existence, has been remarked and pursued by 
writers of all ages and countries. Spring has been represented 
as the youth of the year — the season of pleasing hope, lively en- 



246 THOMSON. 

ergy, and rapid increase. Summer has been resembled to 
perfect manhood — the season of steady warmth, confirmed 
strength, and unremitting vigour. Autumn, which, while it be- 
stows the rich products of full maturity, is yet ever hastening to 
decline, has been aptly compared to that period, when the man, 
mellowed by age, yields the most valuable fruits of experience 
and wisdom, but daily exhibits increasing symptoms of decay. 
The cold, cheerless, and sluggish Winter has almost without a 
metaphor been termed the decrepit and hoary old age of the 
year. Thus the history of the year, pursued through its chang- 
ing seasons, is that of an individual, whose existence is marked 
by a progressive course from its origin to its termination. It is 
thus represented by our poet : this idea preserves an unity and 
connection through his whole work ; and the accurate observer 
will remark a beautiful chain of circumstances in his description, 
by which the birth, vigour, decline, and extinction of the vital 
principle of the year are pictured in the most lively manner. 

This order and gradation of the whole runs, as has been al- 
ready liinted, through each division of the poem. Every season 
has its incipient, confirmed, and receding state, of which its his- 
torian ought to give distinct views, arranged according to the 
succession in which they appear. Each, too, like the prismatic 
colours, is indistinguishably blended in its origin and termina- 
tion with that which precedes and which follows it ; and it may 
be expected from the pencil of an artist to hit off these mingled 
shades so as to produce a pleasing and picturesque effect. Our 
poet has not been inattentive to these circumstances in the con- 
duct of his plan. His Spring begins with a view of the season 
as yet unconfirmed, and partaking of the roughness of Winter ;^ 
and it is not till after several steps in gradual progression, that 
it breaks forth in all its ornaments, as the favourite of Love and 
Pleasure. His Autumn, after a rich prospect of its bounties and 
splendours, gently fades into "the sere, the yellow leaf," and 
with the lengthened night, the clouded sun, and the rising storm, 
sinks into the arms of Winter. It is remarkable, that in order 
to produce something of a similar effect in his Summer, a season 
which, on account of its uniformity of character, does not admit 



* A descriptive piece, in which this very interval of time is represented, with all 
the accuracy of a naturalist, r.nJ vivid colouring of a poet, has lately appeared in ^ 
poera of Af'-. Wai-l<*n's, entitled Thefrst ofJlprU, 



THOMSON. 247 

o( any strongly marked gradations, he lias comprised the whole 
of his description within the limits of a single day, pursuing 
the course of the sun from its rising to its setting. A Summer'fe 
day is, in reality, a just model of the entire season. Its begin- 
ning is moist and temperate ; its middle, sultry and paiching ; 
its close, soft and refreshing. By thus exhibiting all the vicissi- 
tudes of fc'ummer under one point of viev;, they are rendered 
much more striking than could have been done in a series of 
feebly contrasted and scarcely distinguishable periods. 

With this idea of the general plan of the whole work, and of 
its several parts, we proceed to take a view of the various sub- 
jects composing the descriptive series of which it principally 
consists. 

Every grand and beautiful appearance in nature, that distin- 
guishes one portion of the annual circuit from another, is a pro- 
per source of materials for the poet of the Seasons. Of these, 
some are obvious to the common observer, and require only just- 
ness and elegance of taste for the selection : others discover 
themselves only to the mind opened and enlarged by science 
and philosophy. All the knowledge we acquire concerning natu- 
ral objects by such a train of observation and reasoning as merits 
the appellation of science, is comprehended under the two di- 
visions of Natural Philosophy and Natural History. Both of 
these may be employed to advantage in descriptive poetry : for 
although it be true, that poetical composition, being rather cal- 
culated for amusement than instruction, and addressing itself to 
the many wlio feel, rather than to the few who reason, is impro- 
perly occupied about the abstruse and argumentative parts of a 
science ; yet, to reject those grand and beautiful ideas which a 
philosophical view of nature offers to the mind, merely because 
they are above the comprehension of vulgar readers, is surely aii 
unnecessary degradation of this noble art. Still more narrow 
and unreasonable is that critical precept, which, in conformity 
to the received notion that fiction is the soul of poetry, obliges 
the poet to adopt ancient errors in preference to modern truths; 
and this even where truth has tlie advantage in point of poetical 
effect. In fact, modern philosophy is as much superior to the 
ancient in sublimity as in solidity ; and the most vivid imagina- 
tion cannot paint to itself scenes of grandeur equal to those 
which cool science and demonstration offer to tiie enlightened 
mind. Objects so vast and magnificent as planets rolling with 



248 THOMSON. 

even pace tlirougli their orbits, comets rushing along their de- 
vious track, light springing from its unexhausted source, mighty 
rivers formed in their subterranean beds, do not require or even 
admit, a heightening from the fancy. The most faithful pencil 
here produces the noblest pictures ; and Thomson, by strictly 
adhering to the character of the poet of nature, has treated all 
these topics with a true sublimity, which a writer of less know- 
ledge and accuracy could never have attained. The strict pro- 
priety with which subjects from Astronomy and the other parts 
of Natural Philosophy are introduced into a poem describing 
the changes of the Seasons, need not be insisted on, since it is 
obvious that the primary cause of all these changes is to be sought 
in principles derived from these sciences. They are the ground 
work of the whole ; and establish that connected series of cause 
and effect, upon which all those appearances in natui^ depend, 
from whence the descriptive poet draws his materials. 

Natural History, in its most extensive signification, includes 
every observation relative to the distinctions, resemblances, and 
changes of all the bodies, both animate and inanimate, which 
nature offers to us. These observations, however, deserve to be 
considered as part of a science only when they refer to some 
general truth, and form a link of that vast chain which connects 
all created being in one grand system. It was my attempt in 
an Essay lately published,* to show how necessary a more accu- 
rate and scientific survey of natural objects than has usually been 
taken, was to the avoiding the common defects, and attaining 
the highest beauties, of descriptive poetry ; and some of the most 
striking examples of excellence arising from this source were 
extracted from the poem now before us. It will be unnecessary 
here to recapitulate the substance of these remarks, or to mark 
out singly the several passages of our author which display his 
talents for description to the greatest advantage. Our present 
design rather requires such a general view of the materials he has 
collected, and the method in which he has arranged them, as 
may show in what degree they forward and coincide with the 
plan of his work. 

The correspondence between certain changes in the animal 
and vegetable tribes, and those revolutions of the heavenly bo- 



Essay on the Application of Natural History to Poetry. 



THOMSON. 249 

dies which produce the vicissitudes of the .Seasons, is the foun- 
dation of an alliance between Astronomy and Natural History 
that equally demands attention as a matter of curious specula- 
tion, and of practical utility. The astronomical calendar, filled 
up by the naturalist, is a combination of science at the same 
lime pregnant with important instruction to the husbandman, and 
fertile in grand and pleasing objects to the poet and philosopher- 
Thomson seems constantly to have kept in view a combination 
of this kind ; and to have formed from it such an idea of the 
vecononiy of nature, as enabled him to preserve a regularity of 
method and uniformity of design through all the variety of his 
descriptions. We shall attempt to draw out a kind of historical 
narrative of his progress through the Seasons, as far as this order 
is observable. 

Spring is ciiaracterised as the season of the renovation of na- 
ture ; in which animals and vegetables, excited by the kindly 
influence of returning warmth, shake otF the torpid inaction of 
"Winter, and prepare for the continuance and increase of their 
several species. The vegetable tribes, as more independent and 
self provided, lead the way in this progress. The poet, accord- 
ingly, begins with representing the reviviscent plants emerging, 
as soon as genial showers have softened the ground, in numbers 
^' beyond the power of botanist to reckon up Iheir tribes." The 
opening blossoms and flowers soon call forth from their winter 
retreats those industrious insects which derive sustenance from 
their nectareous juices. As the beams of the sun become more 
potent, the larger vegetables, shrubs and trees, unfold theii' 
leaves ; and as soon as a friendly concealment is by their means 
provided for the various nations of the feathered race, they joy- 
fully begin the course of laborious but pleasing occupations 
which are to engage them during the whole season. The de- 
lightful series of pictures, so truly expressive of that genial spirit 
that pervades the Spring, which Thomson has formed on the va- 
riety of circumstances attending the passion of the groves, can- 
not escape the notice and admiration of the most negligent eye. 
Atfected by the same soft influence, and equally indebted to the 
renewed vegetable tribes for food and shelter, the several kinds 
of quadrupeds are represented as concurring in the celebration 
of this charming Season with conjugal and parental rites. Even 
man himself, though from his social condition less under the do- 
minion of physical necessities, is properly described as partak 
li " 



£50 THOMSON, 

ing of the general ardour. Such is the order and connection of 
this whole book, that it might well pass for a commentary upon 
a most beautiful passage, in the philosophical poet Lucretius » 
who certainly wanted nothing but a better system and more cir- 
cumscribed subject, to have appeared as one of the greatest mas- 
ters of description in either ancient or modern poetry. Reason- 
ing on the unperishable nature, and perpetual circulation, of the 
particles of matter, he deduces all the delightful appearances of 
Spring from the seeds of fertility which descend in the vernal 
showers. 

■ pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater ^ther 

In gremium matris Terrai prtccipitavit. 
At nitidse surgunl (ruges, raraiquc virescunt 
Arboribus; ciescunt ipst«, fcetuque gravantur : 
Hinc alitur porro nostrum genus alque ferarum : 
Hinc Isatas urbeis pueiis florere videmns, 
Frundiferasque novis avihuscanere undique sylvas. 
Hinc fessse pt-cudes pingues per pabula lata 
Corpora deponunt, ft candetis lacteus humor 
Ubtiibus manat disientis; hinc nova proles 
Artubus infirmis teneras lasciva per hei-bas 
Ludit, lacte mere menteis percussa novellas. 

LucRET. lib. I. 251. &L, 

The rains are lost, when Jove descends in showers 
Soft on the bosom of the parent earth : 
Hut springs tlie siiining grain ; their verdant I'obo 
The trees resume ; they grow, and pregnant bend 
Deneaih their fertile load : hence kindly food 
The living tribes receive ; the cheerful towu 
Beholds its joyous bands of flowering youth; 
With new-bori! songs the leafy groves resound ; 
The full-fed flocks amid the laughing meads 
Their weary bodies |yy, while wjde distent 
The plenteous udder teems witli milky juice ; 
And o'er the grass, as their young hearts beat Iiigli, 
Swell'd by the pure and g^nerous streams they drain, 
Frolic the wanton lambs with joints infirm. 

The period of Summer is marked by fewer and less striking 
changes in the face of Nature. A soft and pleasing languor, in- 
terrupted only by the gradual progression of the vegetable and 
animal tribes towards their state of maturity, forms the leading 
character ijf this season. The active fermentation of the juices, 
which the first access of genial warmth had excited, now sub- 
sides ; and the increasing heats rather inspire faintness and in- 



THOMSON. 251 

action than lively exertions. The insect race alone seem ani- 
mated with peculiar vigour under the more direct influence of 
the sun ; and are therefore with equal truth and advantage in- 
troduced by the poet to enliven the silent and drooping scenes 
presented by the other forms of anirnal nature. As this source, 
however, together with whatever else our summers afford, is in- 
sufficient to furnish novelty and business enough for this act of 
the drama of the year, the poet judiciously opens a new field^ 
profusely fertile in objects suited to the glowing colours of de- 
scriptive poetry. By an easy and natural transition, he quits the 
chastised summer of our temperate clime for those regions where 
a perpetual summer reigns, exalted by such superior degrees of 
solar heat as give an entirely new face to almost every part o^ 
nature. The terrific grandeur prevalent in some of these, the 
exquisite richness and beauty in others, and the novelty in all, 
afford such a happy variety for the poet's selectioni that we need 
not wonder if some of his noblest pieces are the product of this 
delightful excursion. He returns, however, with apparent satis- 
faction to take a last survey of the softer summer of our island ; 
and after closing the prospect of terrestrial beauties, artfully 
shifts the scene to celestial splendours, which, though perhaps not 
more striking in this season than in some of the others, are now 
alone agreeable objects of contemplation in a northern climate. 

Autumn is too eventful a period in the history of the year 
within the temperate parts of the globe, to require foreign aid 
for rendering it more varied and interesting. The promise of 
the Spring is now fulfilled. The silent and gradual process of 
maturation is completed ; and human industry beholds with tri- 
umph the rich products of its toil. The vegetable tribes disclose 
their infinitely various forms q^ fruit ; which term, while, with 
respect to common use it is confined to a few peculiar modes of 
fructification, in the more comprehensive language of the natu- 
ralist includes every product of vegetation by which the rudi- 
ments of a future progeny are developed, and separated from 
the parent plant. These are in part collected and stored up by 
those animals for whose sustenance during the ensuing sleep of 
nature they are provided. The rest, furnished with various con- 
trivances for dissemination, are scattered, by the friendly winds 
vphich now begin to blow, over the surface of that earth which 
they are to clothe and decorate. The young of the animal race, 
which Spring and Summer had brought fortli and cherished, hav- 



252 THOMSON. 

ing now acquired sufficient vigour, quit their couceaimcuts, and 
offer themselves to the pursuit of tlie carnivorous among their 
feliow-aniinals, and of the great destroyer, man. Thus the scene 
vy is enlivened with the various sports of the hunter ; which, 
however repugnant thej may appear to that system of general 
benevolence and sympathy which philosophy would inculcate, 
have ever afforded a most agreeable exertion to the human 
powers, and have much to plead in their favour as a necessary 
part of the great plan of Nature. Indeed, she marks her inten- 
tion with sufficient precision, by refusing to grant any longer 
those friendly shades which had grown for the protection of the 
infant offspring. The grove loses its honours ; but before they 
are entirely tarnished, an adventitious beauty, arising from that 
gradual decay which loosens the withering leaf, gilds the au- 
tumnal landscape with a temporary splendour, superior to the 
verdure of Spiug, or the luxuriance of Summer. The infinitely 
various and e/er-changing hues of the leaves at this season, melt- 
ing into every soft gradation of tint and shade, have long en- 
gaged the imitation of the painter, and are equally happy orna- 
ments in the description of the poet. 

These unvarying symptoms of approaching Winter now warn 
several of the winged tribes to prepare for their aerial voyage to 
those happy climates of perpetual summer, where no deficiency 
of food or shelter can ever distress them; and about the same 
time, other fowls of hardier constitution, which are contented 
with escaping the iron winters of the arctic regions, arrive to 
supply the vacancy. Thus the striking scenes afforded by that 
wonderful part of the ceconomy ot Nature, the migration of birds, 
present themselves at this season to the poet. The thickening 
fogs, the heavy rains, the swoln rivers, while they deform this 
sinking period of the year, add new subjects to the pleasing va- 
riety wich reigns throughout its whole course, and which justi- 
fies the poet's character of it, as the season when the Muse " best 
exerts her voice.'* 

Winter, directly opposite as it is in other respects to Summer, 
yet resembles it in this, that it is a season in which Nature is em- 
ployed rather in secretly preparing for the mighty changes which 
it successively brings to light, than in the actual exhibition of 
them. It is therefore a period equally barren of events ; and has 
still less of animation than Summer, inasmuch as lethargic in- 
sensibility is a state more distant from vital energy than the 



THOMSON. 253 

languor ot iiulolent repose. From the fall of the leaf, and with- 
ering of the herb, an unvarying death-like torpor oppresses al- 
most the whole vegetable creation, and a considerable part of the 
animal, during this entire portion of the year. The whole insect 
race, which filled every part of the Summer landscape with life 
and motion, are now either buried in profound sleep, or actually 
no longer exist, except in the unformed rudiments of a future 
progeny. Many of the birds and quadrupeds are retired to con- 
cealments, from which not even the calls of iiunger can force 
them ; and the rest, intent only on the preservation of a joyless 
bein"-, have ceased to exert those powers of pleasing, which, at 
other seasons, so much contribute to their mutual happiness, as 
well as to the amusement of their human sovereign. Their social 
connections, however, are improved by their wants. In order 
the better to procure their scanty subsistence, and resist the in- 
clemencies of the sky, they are taught by instinct to assemble in 
flocks, and this provision has the secondary effect of gratifying 
the spectator with something of novelty and action even in the 
dreariness of a wintry prospect. 

But it is in the extraordinary changes and agitations which 
the elements, and the surrounding atmosphere undergo during 
this season, that the poet of nature must principally look for re- 
lief from the gloomy uniformity reigning through other parts of 
the creation. Here scenes are presented to his view, which, 
were they less frequent, must strike with wonder and admira- 
tion the most incurious spectator. The effects of cold are more 
sudden, and in many instances more extraordinary and unex- 
pected, than those of heat. He who has beheld the vegetable 
productions of even a northern Summer, will not be greatly 
amazed at the richer and more luxuriant, but still resembling 
growths of the tropics. But one who has always been accus- 
tomed to view water in a liquid and colourless state, cannot form 
the least conception of the same element as hardened into an 
extensive plain of solid crystal, or covering the ground with a 
robe of the purest white. The highest possible degree of aston- 
ishment must therefore attend the first view of these phenomena; 
and as in our temperate climate but a small portion of the year 
■-"iafifords these spectacles, we find that, even here, they have no- 
velty enough to excite emotions of agreeable surprise. But it is 
not to novelty alone that they owe their charms. Their intrinsic 
beauty is, perhaps, individually superior to that of the gayest ob- 



254 THOMSON. 

jects presented by the other seasons. Where is the elegance and 
brilliancy that can compare with that which decorates every tree 
or bush on the clear morning succeeding a night of hoar frost? 
Or what is the lustre that would not appear dull and tarnished 
in competition with a field of snow just glazed over with frost? 
By the vivid description of such objects as these, contrasted with 
the savage sublimity of storms and tempests, our poet has been 
able to produce a set of winter landscapes, as engaging to the 
fancy as the apparently happier scenes of genial warmth and 
verdure. 

But he has not trusted entirely to these resources for combat- 
ing the natural sterility of Winter. Repeating the pleasing arti- 
fice of his Summer, he has called in foreign aid, and has height- 
ened the scenery with grandeur and horror not our own. The 
famished troops of wolves pouring from the Alps; the mountains 
of snow rolling down the precipices of the same regions; the 
dreary plains over which the Laplander urges his rein-deer ; the 
wonders of the icy sea, and volcanoes*" flaming through a waste 
of snow ;'' are objects judiciously selefcted from all that Nature 
presents most singular and striking in the various domains of 
boreal cold and wintry desolation. 

Thus have we attempted to give a general view of those mate- 
rials which constitute the groundwork of a poem on the Seasons ; 
■which are essential to its very nature; and on the proper ar- 
rangement of which its regularity and connection depend. The 
extent of knowledge, as well as the powers of description, which 
Thomson has exhibited in this part of his work, is, on the whole, 
truly admirable ; and though, with the present advanced taste 
for accurate observation in natural history, some improvements 
might be suggested, yet he certainly remains unrivalled in the 
list of descriptive poets. 

But the rural landscape is not solely made up of land, and 
water, and trees, and birds, and beasts ; man is a distinguished 
figure in it ; his multiplied occupations and concerns introduce 
themselves into every part of it ; he intermixes even in the wild- 
est and rudest scenes, and throws a life and interest upon every 
surrounding object. Manners and character, therefore, constitute 
a part even of a descriptive poem ; and in a plan so extensive as 
the history of the year, they must enter under various forms, and 
upon numerous occasions. 

The most obvious and appropriated use of human figures m 



THOMSON. 255 

pictures of the Seasons, is the introduction of them to assist in 
marking out the succession of annual changes by their various 
labours and amusements. In common with other animals, man 
is directed in the diversified emploj-ment of earning a toilsome 
subsistence by an attention to the vicissitudes ot the seasons ; 
and all his diversions in the simple state of rustic society are 
also regulated by the same circumstance. Thus a series of mov- 
ing figures enlivens the landscape, and contributes to stamp on 
each scene its peculiar character. The shepherd, the husband- 
man, the hunter, appear in their turns; and may be considered 
as natural concomitants of that portion of the yearly round which 
prompts their several occupations. 

But it is not only the bodily pursuits of man which are affect- 
ed by these changes ; the sensations and affections of his mind 
are almost equally under their influence : and the result of the 
whole, as forming the enamoured votary of Nature to a peculiar 
cast of character and manners, is not less conspicuous. Thus 
the poet of the Seasons is at liberty, without deviating from his 
plan, to descant on the varieties of moral constitution, and the 
powers which external causes are found to possess over the tem- 
per of the soul. He may draw pictures of the pastoral life in all 
its genuine simplicity ; and, assuming the tone of a moral in- 
structor, may contrast the peace and felicity of innocent retire- 
ment, with the turbulent agitations of ambition and avarice. 

The various incidents, too, upon which the simple tale of rural 
eventsis founded, are very much modelled by the difference of sea- 
sons. The catastrophies of Winter differ from those of Summer ; 
the sports of Spring from those of Autumn. Thus, little history 
pieces and adventures, whether pathetic or amusing, will sug- 
gest themselves to the poet ; which, when properly adapted to 
the scenery and circumstances, may very happily coincide with 
the main design of the composition. 

The bare enumeration of these several occasions of introducing 
draughts of human life and manners, will be sufficient to call to 
mind the admirable use which Thomson, throughout his whole 
poem, has made of them. He, in fact, never appears more truly 
inspired with his subject, than when giving birth to those senti- 
ments of tenderness and beneficence, which seem to have occu- 
pied his whole heart. An universal benevolence, extending to 
every part of the animal creation, manifests itself in almost every 
scene he draws ; and the rural character, as delineated in his 



^56 THOxMSON. 

feelings, contains all the softness, purity, and simplicity, that are 
feigned of the golden age. Yet, excellent as the moral and sen- 
timental part of his work must appear to every congenial mind, 
it is, perhaps, that in which he may the most easily be rivalled. 
A refined and feeling heart may derive from its own proper 
sources a store of corresponding sentiment, which will naturally 
clothe itself in the form of expression best suited to the occasion. 
Nor does the invention of those simple incidents which are most 
adapted to excite the sympathetic emotions, require any great 
stretch of fancy. The nearer they approach to common life, the 
more certainly will they produce their effect. Wonder and sur- 
prise are affections of so different a kind, and so distract the at- 
tention, that they never fail to diminish the force of the pathetic. 
On these accounts, writers much inferior in respect to the powers 
of description and imagery, have equalled our poet in elegant 
and benevolent sentiment, and perhaps excelled him in interest- 
ing narration. Of these, it will be sufficient to mention the in 
genious author of a French poem on the Seasons ; who, though a 
mere copyist in the descriptive parts, has made many pleasing 
additions to the manners and incidents proper for such a com 
position. 

But there is a strain of sentiment of a higher and more digres 
sive nature, with which Thomson has occupied a considerable 
portion of his poem. The fundamental principles of moral phi- 
losophy, ideas concerning the origin and progress of government 
and civilisation, historical sketches, and reviews of the characters 
most famous in ancient and modern history, are interspersed 
through the various parts of the Seasons. The manly, liberal, 
and enlightened spirit which this writer breathes in all his works> 
must ever endear him to the friends of truth and virtue ; and, in 
particular, his genuine patriotism and zeal in the cause of liberty 
will render his writings always estimable to the British reader. 
But, just and important as his thoughts on these topics may be, 
there may remain a doubt in the breast of the critic, whether 
their introduction in a piece like this do not, in some instances, 
break in upon that unity of character which every work of art 
should support. We have seen, from the general plan and tenor 
of the poem, that it is professedly of the rural cast. The objects 
it is chiefly conversant with are those presented by the hand of 
nature, not the products of human art; and when man himself 
is introduced as a part of the group, it would seem that, in con- 



THOMSON. 25T 

I'orm'ity to the rest, he ouglit to be represented in such a state 
only, as the simplest forms of society, and most unconstrained 
situations in it, exhibit. Courts and cities, camps and senates, 
do not well accord with sylvan scenery. From the principle of 
congruity, therefore, a critic might be induced to reject some of 
these digressive ornaments, though intrinsically beautiful, and 
doubtless contributing to the elevation and variety of the piece. 
His judgment in this respect would be a good deal influenced by 
the manner of their introduction. In some instances, this is so 
easy and natural, that the mind is scarcely sensible of the devia- 
tion ; in others it is more abrupt and unartful. As examples of 
both, we may refer to the passages in which various characters 
from English and from Grecian and Roman history are display- 
ed. The former, by a happy gradation, is introduced at the close 
of a delightful piece, containing the praises of Britain ; whici» is 
itself a kind of digression, thougli a very apt and seasonable one. 
The latter has no other connection with the part at which it is 
inserted, than the very forced and distant one, that, as reading 
may be reckoned among the amusements appropriated to Win- 
ter, such subjects as these will naturally offer themselves to the 
studious mind. 

There is another source of sentiment to the poet of the Sea- 
sons, which, while it is superior to the last in real elevation, is 
also strictly connected with the nature of his work. The gen- 
uine philosopher, while he surveys the grand and beautiful ob- 
jects every where surrounding him, will be prompted to lift his 
eye to the great cause of all these wonders ; the planner and ar- 
chitect of this mighty fabric, every minute part of which so much 
awakens his curiosity and admiration. The laws by which this 
being acts, the ends which he seems to have pursued, must ex- 
cite his humble researches ; and in proportion as he discovers 
infinite power in the means, directed by infinite goodness in the 
intention, his soul must be wrapt in astonishment, and expand- 
ed with gratitude. The ceconomy of Nature will, to such an ob- 
server, be the perfect scheme of an all-wise and beneficei.t mindj 
and every part of the wide creation will appear to prociai ii the 
praise of its great author. Thus a new connection will manifest 
itself between the several parts of the universe ; and a new 
order and design will be traced through the progress of its vari- 
ous revolutions. 

Thomson's Seasons is as eminently a religious as it is a de- 
Kk 



'25B THOMSON. 

scriptive poein. Thoroughly impressed with sentiments of vene- 
ration for the author of that assemblage of order and beauty 
which it was his province to paint, he takes every proper occa- 
sion to excite similar emotions in the breast of his readers. En- 
tirely free from the gloom of superstition and the narrowness of 
bigotry, he every where represents the Deity as the kind and 
beneficent parent of all his works, always watchful over their 
best interests, and from seeming evil still educing the greatest pos- 
sible good to all his creatures. In every appearance of nature 
he beholds the operation of a divine hand ; and regards, accord- 
ing to his own emphatical phrase, each change throughout the 
revolving year as but the " varied God." This spirit, which 
breaks forth at intervals in each division of his poem, shines full 
and concentred in that noble hymn which crowns the work. 
This piece, the sublimest production of its kind since the days 
of Milton, should be considered as the winding up of all the va- 
riety of matter and design contained in the preceding parts ; and 
thus is not only admirable as a separate composition, but is con- 
trived with masterly skill to strengthen the unity and connec- 
tion of the Great Whole. 

Thus is planned and constructed a poem, which, founded as 
it is upon the unfading beauties of Nature, will live as long 
as the language in which it is written shall be read. If the 
perusal of it be in any respect rendered more interesting or in- 
structive by this imperfect Essay, the purpose of the writer will 
be fully answered. 



A COMPARISON 



BETWEEN 



^:riEi(Dsa§®:^ ^mm (©(dwiphib 



DESCRIPTIVE POETS. 



NO descriptive poem in any language has obtained equal 
popularity with the Seasons of Thomson, a work of which the 
description of rural nature was the proper subject, while moral 
and philosophical sentiment was its appendage and decoration. 
It was happily calculated to please as well those whose imagi- 
nations were readily impressed with the sublime and beautiful, 
as those whose hearts were alive to feelings of tenderness and 
humanity. It found so many readers, that probably no single 
circumstance has contributed so much to that love of the coun- 
try, and taste for the charms of nature, which peculiarly cha- 
racterise the inhabitants of this island, as the early associations 
formed by the perusal of this poem. It also, like all popular 
compositions, drew after it a current of imitation ; and it was 
the model of that exact style of painting which is discernible in 
the performances of most of our later descriptive and didactic 
poets. 

This style is a distinguishing feature of that very singular and 
original poem, the Task, a work, the numberless beauties of 
which have acquired it a popularity scarcely inferior to that of 
the Seasons ; and have secured it a permanent place among the 
select productions of English poetry. Whether it is more pro- 
perly to be arranged in the descriptive or the didactic class, is a 
question of little moment ; but considering it as possessing pe- 
culiar excellence in the first of these characters, it may be an 
interesting topic of critical discussion to compare the different 



260 THOMSON AND COWPER. 

manners of the Task and the Seasons in the description of natu- 
ral objects, and to estimate their several merits. 

To select a variety of circumstances which shall identify the 
object, and at the same time present it to the imagination in 
strong and lively colouring, is the essence of poetical descrip- 
tion. The qualities enumerated must not be so lax and general 
as to apply equally to several species of things (which is the 
ordinary fault of the oriental manner of delineating ;) nor yet so 
methodically precise as the descriptions in natural history, which, 
are addressed more to the intellect than to the imagination. 
Grand and sublime objects are best described by a few bold 
touches ; for greatness is lost by being parcelled into minute 
portions ; but objects of beauty and curiosity will bear to be 
viewed microscopically ; and if the particulars are skilfully 
chosen, the eftect is enhanced by distinctness. It is also desi- 
rable that the circumstances should be suggested by personal 
observation ; else, the picture will probably be defective in ac- 
curacy, or at least will be marked with the faintness of a copy 
from another's conceptions. 

No poetical artist can well venture to draw with minuter 
strokes than Thomson has done, in the delineations of rural 
scenery and occupations, which constitute the proper matter or 
staple of liis poem, and which are generally both pleasing to con- 
template and happily selected for the purpose of characterising 
the season. It would be difficult to determine whether the grand 
or the agreeable objects presented by nature were most conge- 
nial to his disposition. If his imagination was captivated by the 
former, his heart inclined him to the latter, especially to such as 
called forth kind and benevolent emotions ; and as those offered 
themselves most copiously to his observation, they occur most 
frequently in his poem. His scenes of sublimity are chiefly 
taken from the polar and tropical regions, in depicting which, he 
jonly transcribes (with a poetical pen and fancy, indeed) the de- 
scriptions of travellers. His home scenery seems to have been 
almost entirely suggested by his own remarks, first made when 
he was a youth on the banks of the Tweed, and afterwards en- 
larged when he was a guest or an inhabitant in some of the finest 
parts of England. As he rejected no objects, however trivial, 
which could serve to mark the season he was describing, he ap- 
pears to have thought it incumbent upon him, in order to sup- 
port the dignity of verse, to intermix the figures and phraseology 



THOMSON AND COWPER. 261 

■of the higher kinds of poetry ; and to this he was particularly in- 
duced by the character of blank verse, in which he composed ; 
for this species, being so little distinguished from prose by its 
measure, had acquired, in the practice of several eminent wri 
ters, an artificial stateliness of diction, more remote from com- 
mon speech than the usual heroic rhymed couplet. This mixture 
of high wrought language with a humble topic is one of the pecu- 
liar features of Thomson's style in descriptive poetry. A few 
•examples will illustrate the manner of this combination. 

In Summer a picture is given of hay making, in which, the 
various operations of that pleasing, rural labour, are minutely 
represented. The following lines are part of the description : — 

Ev'n stooping age is here, and infant hands 
Trail the long rake, or with the fragrant load 
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppressioji roll. 



all in a row 

Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 
They spread the breathing Iiarvest to the sun. 

/ 

In the autumnal scene of the hare hunt, when the poor animal 
i-i put up,— 

* * * she springs amazed, and all 
The savage soul of game is up at once. 

The stag, in similar circumstances, 

G'vcs all his sivift aerial soul to flight. 

When a herd of cattle has taken alarm from the attack of a 
>warm of gad flies, 

* • • * tossing the foam 

They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain. 
Thro' all the bright severity of noon. 

All these quotations afford examples of that abstraction or 
generalisation which is one of the distinctions of poetical lan- 
guage, and which, when in unison with the subject and the ordi- 
nary strain of the diction, often produces a very happy effect. 
How far it does so in the preceding passages, the reader may 
determine according to his own feelings. To me, while the two 
last appear not only excusable, but worthy of admiration, the 



262 THOMSON AND COWPER. 

former give the perception of turgidity and ill applied eft'oit. 
The following lines in the description of the vintage, afford a 
singular mixture of vulgar and lofty phraseology : — 

Then comes the crtif:fdng- swain, the country floats 
And Joams unbounded with tiif manhy flood, 
Tlistt by degrees fermented and refined, 
Hound the raised nations pours the cup of joy. 

There are few pages of the Seasons which do not present some- 
what of this combination of elevated language with common mat- 
ter, which, whatever critical judgment be passed upon it, must be 
regarded as characteristic of the author's manner. 

Another artifice which he employs to give dignity to a humble 
topic, is to annex to it moral sentiment, and, as it were, hu- 
manise the animal natures concerned in the scene. Thus, 
•where he has perhaps descended the lowest, — in his description 
of a spider catching flies in a window, — this insect is termed 

The villain spider • » » cunning and fierce. 
Mixture abhorr'd ! 

He is afterwards called the ruffian ; and the victim fly, the 
dreadless wanderer ; and the whole action is minutely told in a 
tragical style that would suit the murder of a Duncan or a Cla- 
rence. In like manner, the bear, seeking his winter retreat, is 
endowed with a human soul : — 

• • with stern patience, scorning weak complaint. 
Hardens his breast against assailing want. 

Whatever be thought of these particular examples, it is pre- 
sumed that no reader of sensibility will object to the pleasing de- 
tails of the passion of the groves, though in some instances the 
writer may have assigned to his feathered pairs feelings which 
only belong to human lovers. 

The frequent use of compound epithets is another circumstance 
by which Thomson's diction is strongly marked. These are el- 
liplical modes of expression, by means of which, qualities or at- 
tributes are annexed to a subject in the most concise form pos- 
sible. The effect of this compression is often truly poetical, — a 
striking idea being excited by a single word, which it would take 
a line to convey in detail. It is, however, a license in language, 
and when arbitrarily framed, with no regard to grammatical pro- 



THOMSON AND COWPER. 263 

priety, is apt to give offence to a correct taste. This is the case 
when the two parts of the compound have no natural connection, 
or stand in no relation to each other of substantive and attribute, 
or of cause and effect. Thus, in the Seasons, blood-happy, mean- 
ing happy in the taste of blood ; thick-nibbling, standing close 
and nibbling; pale-quivering, pale and iYXWtv'm^; fair-exposed, 
fair and exposed ; seem examples of harsh and vicious formation. 
In many instances, the compounding is effected merely by using 
an adjective adverbially, as, wild-throbbing ior \\\\A\y i\\vobhmg', 
loose-Jioating, for loosely floating ; where too little appears to be 
gained to justify the license. Upon the whole, Thomson's em- 
ployment of this device to render language poetical may justly 
be termed excessive ; and it is so characteristic of his style, that 
Brown, in his " Pipe of Tobacco," has personated this poet chiefly 
by his compound epithets : — 

* * • * forth issue clouds. 
Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, 
And many-mining fires. 

To speak of Thomson generally as a descriptive poet, it may 
then be said, that in choice of subjects, he rejects none that can 
be rendered pleasing and impressive, and that he paints with a 
circumstantial minuteness which gives the objects clear and dis- 
tinct to the imagination ; that with respect to diction, he is usu- 
ally expressive and energetic, with frequent touches of truly 
poetic imagery, but occasionally verging to the turgid and cum- 
brous, particularly when he is desirous of elevating a humble 
topic by a pomp of phrase. It may be added, that no poet before 
him ever viewed nature either so extensively or so accurately ; 
and that a benevolent heart, and a soul tutored by philosophy and 
impressed by the sentiments of a pure and enlarged theology 
continually animate his pictures of rural life. 

Of the merit of his versification, different ears have judged 
very different. That his lines sometimes move heavily beneath 
an overweight of matter, and that they are occasionally harsh 
and unmelodious, is sufficient!}' perceptible ; but, considering 
the length of his poem, such defects may be excused ; and the 
general flow of his strain appears to me equal in harmony to that 
of most composers of blank verse, *hnugh rarely attaining excel- 
lence. As he is said to have been a very uncouth reader of his 



264 THOMSON AND COWPER. 

own lines, it is probable that his musical perceptions were not 
remarkably nice. 

Thomson still bore the palm of descriptive poetry, and his man- 
ner was the principal object of imitation, when Cowper, who had 
failed of exciting attention by a volume of poems displaying abun- 
dant genius, but in a repulsive garb, burst on the public \tith his 
Task. This work, without professed subject or plan, consists of 
a mixture of description, chiefly rural, and of moral and religious 
sentiment, each introduced as it seems to have suggested itself 
to the mind of the author, with no other connection than casual 
association. Educated at a public school, and afterv/ards initia- 
led in the school of the world ; of a temper frank and undisguised; 
naturally inclined to hilarity, but with great inequality of spirits, 
which at length plunged him into a morbid melancholy, and ren- 
dered him the victim of a gloomy and appalling system of reli- 
gion ; kind and benevolent in his feelings, but converted by 
principle to a keen and caustic censor of life and manners; long 
consigned to a retirement in which his chief employment and so- 
lace was the contemplation of nature ; Cowper brought a very 
extraordinary assemblage of qualities, moral and intellectual, to 
give direction to a genius of the first order. A free converse 
with men of the world, and an abhorrence of every thing like af- 
fectation, in language as well as in manners, had formed him to 
a style purely English, not disdaining a mixture of common 
words, and rendered poetical, not by a lofty cant, but by expres- 
sions warmed with the vivid imagery that played before his fancy. 
Equally minute and circumstantial with Thomson in his mode 
of description, and by no means fastidious in his choice of sub- 
jects, in which he was partly influenced by a strong relish for 
humour, as well as a taste for the beautiful and sublime, he some- 
times paints in a manner resembling the Dutch or Flemish school, 
but always with touches of the true picturesque. When his sub- 
ject is low, he is content to leave it so, without any effort to raise 
it by the ambitious ornaments of artificial diction, secure of inter- 
esting his reader by the truth and liveliness of his delineation. 
Thus, in his picture of the Woodman, which has been happily 
transferred to canvass, not a word is employed that rises above 
the matter, yet the language could present no other terms equally 
expressive : — 

Slriggy Mncl leiin, and slrewd, wit'i pomted ears, 
And tail cropt sUoit, htiU-lurcher and half-cur, 



THOMSON AND COWPER. 265 

llis clog altenils him. Close bc-liirid his heel 
Now creeps he slow, and now with many a frisk 
Witle-scamperiiig, sntitchcs up ihc ih-ified snow 
With ivory tfelli,orplnugI)s it with Ins snnut, 
Then shakes his powder'il coat, and barks tor joy. 
Heedless of all his i)ranks, the stui-dy churl 
Moves right towanl Iho inaik, nor stops for aught 
But now and then, with pressure of his thumb, 
T' adjust the fragrant charge of a short lube 
That fumes beneath his nose. The trailing cloud 
Streams lar behind him, scenting all the air. 

The Carrier, in a snow storm, — 

With iialf-shuteyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teetli 
Presented bare against the storm, — 

3 a draught of the same kind, something more bordering on the 
Dutch style, but perfect as a copy of reality. In both these pas- 
sages, words are found which could not have suggested themselves 
:o Thomson, or, if they had, would scarcely have been admitted; 
|ret what reader of true taste would change them ? This niascu- 
ine vigour of vernacular diction, which is characteristic of Cow- 
)er's style, and in which it resembles that of Dryden, by no means 
jrecludes (any more than it did in that poet) the highest degree 
)f grace and elegance when those qualities are congenial with 
;he subject. What can surpass in gracefulness of language, as 
veil as in beauty of imagery, his enumeration of plants in the 
lowering-shrubbery r — The tall guelder-rose 

— — throwing up into the darkest gloom 

Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew. 
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf 
That the wind severs from the broken wave. 

-K sjt JJ? ^ 'I* <^ ^ 

******* ^ 

* * * * * luxuriant above all 

The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets. 
The deep dark green of whose unvaniish'd leaf 
Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more. 
The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. 

If the passage in which these lines are contained be compared 

.vith a resembling one in Thomson describing the flowers that 

)low from early Spring to Summer, it will appear, that whilst 

he latter poet attempts little more than to annex to each some 

LI* 



266 THOMSON AND COWPER. 

mark of distinction properly belonging to it, the former asso- 
ciates with the subject of his desjcription some idea of the imagi- 
nation which enhances its effect by parallelism Nothing de- 
notes the mind of a poet so much as this operation of the fancy 
when objects are presented to the external senses. 

That Thomson was in general an exact, as well as a minute, 
observer of nature is evinced in almost every page of the Sea- 
sons ; yet there are some instances in which Cowper, in touching 
upon the same circumstances, has displayed superior correctness. 
Thus, where Thomson, with a truly picturesque selection of in- 
cidents, represents the effects of a hard frost, he augments the 
real wonders of the scene by painting a cascade as if it were con- 
gealed into ice at the instant of falling :— 

*■ * * the dumb cascade, 
Whose idle lori-'tnts only seem to roar. 

But this is an impossibility, and is regarded as such by Cow- 
per, who has formed a beautiful frost picture from the opposite 
appearances. Speaking of a stream stealing away beneath its 
frozen surface, he says, — 

Not so, wluTc scornful of a check, it leaps 
The mill-dam, (lashes oii the restic ss wheel, 
AikI wantons in the jit-hhiy gulf helow. 
No frost can bind it there : its utmost force 
Can but arrest the lijrht and smoky mist 
That in its fall the liquid shei;l throws wide. 

In this passage, too, Cowper is more accurate in the silent 
stealthy flow of the frost-bound stream, than Thomson, who, pro- 
bably for the sake of poetical effect, represents it as indignantly 
murmuring at its chains : — 

The ivhole in)prison'd v'lvev ^'rowls below. 

Cowper's exactness was probably owing to his having been, 
from his situation, an observer of nature at an advanced period 
of life, when the novelty of common objects being exhausted, the 
rural solitary is reduced to pry more closely into surrounding 
scenes, in order to excite a new interest in them. Hence, his 
observations are commonly of a more curious and recondite kind 
than those of Thomson, who usually takes what lies obvious upon 
the surface of things. Every reader of the Seasons has ad- 



THOMSON AND COWPER. 267 

mired the pleasing description of the red-breast, "paying to 
trusted man his annual visit:" it is recognised for perfect, na- 
ture, because every one has witnessed the reality: but few in 
their winter walks have made those remarks on the same bird 
which dictated to Cowper the following lines:-— 

The reil-bit'iibt warbles still, hut is content 

\^'ilh sbider notes :.ti(l iiioi'f than half suppressM. 

Plf .'.S' il with his solitiwle. :incl flitting light 

F otn spi ay to spray, whi'i'i-'er In- r^sts \n- shaki's 

From many a twig \i>t pciid nt di-opsol'icc. 

That tinkle in th(- witherM leaves below. 

This picture is equally natural with the former, and has the 
additional merit of furnishing new images to the fancy. It was 
from such a mature and deliberate study of nature that Mr. 
"White of Selborne derived that store of curious observation, 
which he has presented in tlie most entertaining misceUany of 
natural history that was ever composed. 

Both of these poets occasionally employed personification, 
which is a kind of abstract and comprehensive description. To 
the poet of the Seasons it was an obvious piece of mechanism that 
each should make its entrance as a living figure; distinguished 
by some characteristic of that portion of the year of which it was 
the harbinger; but it cannot be said that in these draughts he 
has displayed much fancy. The epithet of "ethereal Mildness" 
which he gives to Spring presents no visual image; and it has 
been justly objected by Miss Seward, that the "showers of sha- 
dowing roses'' in which she descends is an usurpation upon the 
property of Summer. To Summer is assigned nothing more than 
"refulgent youth," and an "ardent look." Autumn has the 
comiTion bearings of the sickle and wheaten sheaf, with which he, 
or she, is oddly said to be " crowned :" and Winter is only 
marked by the qualities of gloom and surliness. Tlie other 
sketches of personification in his poem are too slight to merit 
notice. 

The case is very different with Cowper. His powerful imagi- 
nation was equal to those creative exertions which are perliaps 
the highest triumph of poetry ; and though his purpose in the 
Task did not urge him to frequent attempts of this kind, yet he 
has exhibited specimens which in grandeur and elegance have 
scarcely ever been surpassed. His personified figures of Win- 
ter and of Evening will justify this assertion to every reader sus- 



£68 THOMSON AND COWPER. 

ceptible of the charms of pure poetry ; and, I think, clearly es- 
tablish his claims to a higher seat on Parnassus than that occu- 
pied by Thomson. 

The descriptive matter in the Seasons is diversified by some 
little history pieces, the subjects of which have a reference to 
that part of the year in which they are introduced. It is gene- 
rally admitted that the style of Thomson is little suited to the 
narrative of common life. Destitute of ease, and wholly unlike 
the language of real conversation, it proves an awkward vehicle 
for the dialogue and incidents of story-telling ; and though an in- 
terest is excited by the pathetic of the circumstances, as in the 
maid struck by lightning, and the man lost in the snow, it owes 
nothing to the manner of narration. Cowper, on the contrary, 
was a master in this style. He perfectly understood common 
speech, and could readily accommodate his phraseology to his 
subject. The touching story of Crazy Kate, and the various pas- 
sages in which he alludes to the melancholy history of his own 
life, are examples of the natural mode of narration ; of which 
many more instances might be aaduced from his other poems. 

As the versification of Thomson has been mentioned, it will 
be proper, by way of comparison, to say something of that of 
Cowper. His blank verse is in general the apparently negli- 
gent eftusion of one who, pouring out his thoughts in exuberance, 
does not long study to put them into measure. But he evident- 
ly possessed a musical and practised ear; and his irregularities 
are not always without design. It is known that in his version of 
Homer he paid very particular attention to the melody of his 
lines and its adaptation to the subject; and if, in the Task, his 
mind was more occupied with the sentiments, there are not want- 
ing passages the flow of which is remarkably harmonious. One 
example shall suffice for a proof of his talents in this respect:— 

How sol't the music of those village bells 
Falling :ii inttrvaU Upon ihe eai- 
lii cadence sweet ! now dying all away, 
Now jiealing loud again, and louder still. 
Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on. 

A fine ear is, then, another poetical requisite in which nature 
seems to have been more liberal to Cowper than to Thomson. It 
would, perhaps, be easy to quote from the latter, instances in 
which harsh or appalling sounds are happily imitated, for our 
language abounds with words which echo tones of that class ; but 



■n 



THOMSON AND COWPER. 269 

to make English verse " discourse eloquent music" is a much 
more difficult task. 

Such appear to me to be the principal characteristics of these 
two original poets in that delineation of natural objects and the 
incidents of rural life, for which both are so justly admired. 
Thomson is so far entitled to the first place, that if his minute 
style of painting had not obtained admission into English poe- 
try, the descriptions in the Task would probably never have ex- 
isted : yet Covvper cannot be denominated an imitator in them, 
since his manner is entirely his own, and the objects he has re- 
presented were evidently suggested by individual observation. 
Between the two poems no comparison can subsist; for while 
the Seasons is the completion of an extensive plan, necessarily 
comprising a great variety of topics, most of which would occur 
to every poetical mind occupied in the same design ; the Task 
owes nothing to a preconceived argument, but is the extemporane- 
ous product of the very singular mind and genius of the author, 
ft had no model, and can have no parallel. 



AN ESSAY 



.iiAiiil?''^ 



POEM ON THE 
ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 



THE Poems termed didactic may be considered as of two 
kinds. Those to which the term is more properly applied, arc 
such as directly profess to teach some art or science. The other 
species consists of those which, taking up some speculative topic, 
establish a theory concerning it by argument and illustration. 
Of the former kind, many will familiarly occur to the reader's 
memory ; and the piece before us is an example of it. Of the 
latter, are various philosophical and argumentative pieces, from 
the poem of Lucretius on the Epicurean system, to Pope's Essay 
on Man, and Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination. A mid- 
dle place between the two seems to be occupied by moral poetry 
which, at the same time that it lays down practical rules for the 
conduct of life, discusses the theoretical principle on which they 
are founded. 

Now in estimating the respective value of these different pro- 
ducts of the poetic art, it will be necessary to begin with con- 
sidering what poetry essentially is, and what are its powers and 
purposes. It is, I conceive, essential to poetry that it should 
present ideas to the imagination, either agreeable of themselves, 
or rendered so by the clothing and accompaniments given to 
them. Its leading aim is to please; and its powers are, to a cer- 
tain degree, to make pleasing what would not be so of itself. If, 
therefore, by the poet's art, to the main end of giving pleasure, 
can be associated that of communicating instruction in such a 
way as will more strongly and agreeably impress it on the mind. 



ARMSTRONG. 271 

its complete purpose may be said to be attained. Delight and 
profit combined are all that can be wished from the noblest of 
the fine arts. 

But there are subjects, the nature of which renders such a 
combitia^on scarcely possible, and in which every attempt to 
produce it, can only yield an incongruous mixture of ill placed 
ornament and defective instruction. These are especially to be 
found in those arts of life which depend upon the application of 
metlianical rules, or the practical skill acquired by experience. 
"^To describe the minute processes of manual art in verse, in such 
a manner as that they shall be understood, is not only a very 
difficult task, but a wholly fruitless one ; since, after all, the de- 
scription cannot be so clear and precise as one written in prose, 
nor can the verse rise to poetry. We may, indeed, admire the 
skill shown in the attempt to decorate a barren subject, but we 
must regret that the writer's talents were so ill employed. So 
obvious is this conclusion, that we may be assured no one ever 
wrote a didactic poem for the simple purpose of teaching an art. 
The choice has therefore been dictated by a search after novelty, 
or the desire of exhibiting a proof of poetical skill. These mo- 
tives are expressly avowed by Virgil in his Georgics, and are 
much more probable than the deep political design attributed to 
that poem, of exciting the Roman nobility to the pursuits of agri- 
culture. 

But while perhaps every poem strictly didactic labours under 
the inconvenience of a subject not calculated for displaying the 
art of poetry in its fairest form, some, both from their nature, 
and from the manner of treating them, are less defective in this 
respect than others. Thus, certain arts are closely connected in 
their theory with large and philosophical views of the system of 
the universe, or ot the principles of the human mind. Some, 
even, in their practice, aftbrd matter for pleasing description, 
and admit of easy illustration from the most striking and agree- 
able objects of external nature. For example, the arts of hus- 
bandry are evidently allied to a vast variety of great and inte- 
resting topics ; and we all know how advantageously Virgil has 
employed them as the ground work of one of the most pleasing- 
poems of antiquity. This piece, however, will also serve to show 
the unfavourable effect of attempting to express matter purely 
technical in a poetical manner. For no unprejudiced reader will 
deny, that in many of the preceptive passages, notwithstanding 



272 ARMSTRONG. 

the variety of resources he employs to elevate them into poetrj - 
he is overpov/ered by his subject, and chained as it were, to the 
earth he is labouring ; — while on the other hand, as a teacher of 
the art, he is frequently so obscure, as to have embarrassed the 
whole race of agricultural and literary critics since his fime. It' 
may also be observed, that had he extended his views further into 
the philosophical part of his subject, and made a full use of the 
moral and physical variety it was capable of affording, he would 
not have found it necessary to wander into digressions so re- 
motely connected with his proposed topics, as scarcely to be 
justified by any reasonable claim of poetic license. For even the 
semblance of teaching is destroyed by deviations, the manifest 
purpose of which is to disengage the reader's attention from the 
main subject, and fix it upon somewhat more captivating to the 
imagination. 

With respect to the piece before us, its subject seems on the 
whole as happily calculated for didactic poetry, as most of those 
which have been taken for the purpose. To say that it is a pe- 
culiarly proper one for a physician to write upon, is saying no- 
thing of consequence to the reader. But the preservation of 
health is, in the first place, a matter of general importance, and 
therefore interesting to readers of every class. Then, although 
its rules, scientifically considered, belong to a particular pro- 
fession, and require previous studies for their full comprehen- 
sion ; yet, in the popular use, they are level to the understand- 
ing and experience of every man of reading and reflection. Had 
the subject been more strictly medical, such as the nature and 
cure of a particular disease, it would have been liable to the ob- 
jections attending a confined and professional topic ; and, like 
the Siphylis of Fracastorius, could scarcely, by the greatest poe- 
tical skill, have been rendered generally pleasing or instructive. 
But every man being in some measure entrusted with the care 
of his own health, and being accustomed to speculations concern- 
ing Air, Diet, Exercise, and the Passions, the subject may be 
considered as universal. It is true, these topics can be poeti- 
cally treated only in a popular manner, and the writer who 
chooses the vehicle of verse in treating of them, must take up 
with common and perhaps superficial notions. But by associa- 
ting these notions with images addressed to the imagination, he 
may convi?y them in a more agreeable form ; and he may advan- 
tageously femploy the diction of poetry to give to practical rules 



ARMSTRONG. ^73 

an energy and conciseness of expression which may forcibly im- 
print them on the memory. This power is, indeed, the principal 
circumstance which imparts real utility to didactic poetry; and 
we all feel its effects on becoming acquainted with the moral 
and critical works of such authors as Horace, Boileau, and Pope. 
Further, the topics with which the Art of Health is conversant, 
are connected witli various of the loftiest and most extensive 
speculations on general nature ; and in pursuing the regular vein 
of thought, many sources of truly poetical ideas may be opened. 
It remains now to examine how far the author has availed himself 
of the advantages of his subject, and in what manner he has sup- 
ported the character of a didactic poet. 

As Invocation is an established part of a regular poem, it was 
necessary that the piece before us should be provided with that 
decoration. The choice of Hygeia, or the Goddess of Health, 
for the object of address, was dictated by a very obvious pro- 
priety. The manner is imitated from that of Lucretius in his 
fine invocation of Venus; and much imagination is displayed in 
the description of her approach, and of the various baleful forms 
of disease and death that fly from her presence. 

Of the sources from which health is drawn, salubrious air is 
one of the most remarkable. Air, therefore, with propriety, is 
made the peculiar topic of the first book. Perhaps a descriptive 
passage of more strength can scarcely be met with than that which 
enumerates the various contaminations of this element in a crowd- 
ed city. The ideas, indeed, in their own nature disgusting, might 
be thought almost too vividly represented, did they not by con- 
trast add to the sweetness of the subsequent rural picture, the 
effect of which is almost equal to that of the fabled calenture in 
calling forth irresistible longings after the country. Every rea- 
der familiar with the vicinity of the metroplis will feel peculiar 
pleasure from the glimpses given of those favourite summer re- 
treats, Windsor, Richmond, Dulwich, and Hampstead, which will 
excite in his mind peculiar images, always much more engaging 
to the fancy than general ones. The poet next exercises his in- 
vention in one of the higher efforts of the art, that of allegorical 
personification. His figure and genealogy of Quartana are well 
imagined ; but like most of those who create these fancy formed 
beings, he fails in the agency he attributes to her ; for in merely 
inspiring a fit of the ague, she acts not as a person, but as an in= 
corporeal cause. 
M m 



274 ARMSTRONG 

He goes on to describe the different sites unfriendly to health, 
particularly the too moist and the too dry, which he makes the 
foundation of what are called in the schools of physic, the phleg- 
matic and melancholic temperaments. In his instructions how- 
to guard against the evils of different situations, he somewhat 
anticipates his future topics of diet and exercise. The passage, 
however, is full of vigorous description ; and the means of cor- 
recting the watery and the parched soil afford spirited sketches 
of landscape. But he is no where so minute, as in that perpetual 
topic of an Englishman, the bad weather under which our island 
is so frequently submerged. A kind of splenetic strength of 
painting distinguishes his gloomy draught of loaded skies and 
eastern blasts, and of that vexatious fickleness of weather, itt 
which all the seasons seem to " mix in every monstrous day." 

We are, however, brought into good humour again by the de- 
scription of cheerful, dry, and sheltered spots in which atmo- 
spherical evils may be palliated ; and the concluding eulogy on 
the cheering and invigorating influence of solar heat, leaves the 
fancy agreeably impressed with a sensation similar to that im- 
parted by a serene summer's day. On the whole, the descriptive 
beauties of this book are considerable ; but as a leading head of 
his subject, it might I conceive, have been lengthened with ad- 
vantage, by some circumstances relative to the influence of air 
upon health, which he has not touched upon. The sudden ope- 
ration upon the spirits by alterations in the weight of the atmo- 
sphere, as indicated by the barometer, and the medicinal effects 
of change of climate upon invalids, would have afforded matter 
both for curious discussion, and interesting, and even pathetic, 
narration. 

Diet, the subject of the second book, is, as the writer observes 
on entering upon it, comparatively barren and unfavourable to 
poetry. It is evidently more immersed in technical investiga- 
tions than the former; and its connection with the grossest of 
the sensual pleasures, renders it difficult to be treated on with- 
out derogating from the dignity of a pliilosophical poem. Dr. 
Armstrong, however, has managed it with judgment. He be- 
gins with a scientific topic, necessary as a foundation for the 
preceptive part which is to follow — the circulation of the blood. 
This function, however, admits of easy illustration from the 
common principles of hydraulics, as displayed in the motion of 
water through pipes and channels. The constant waste of solid 



ARMSTRONG. 275, 

particles that such a perpetual current must produce, demon- 
strates the necessity for a new supply by means of somewhat 
taken in. Hence naturally follows the consideration of food, its 
concoction, and the choice of aliments, solid and fluid, suited to 
persons of different constitutions and in different climates. This 
is the general plan of the book. The poet's skill consists in 
taking the subject out of the language and reasonings of science, 
familiarising it by apt illustration, and diversifying it by amusing 
digression. All this he has attempted, and with success. 

We shall not closely follow his steps while he treats of the 
digestibility and salubriousness of different foods, and lays down 
rules for the regulation of appetite. The subject, as we before 
hinted, is not of the most pleasing kind, and it is apparently 
rather from necessity than choice that he enters into it. His 
expressions and images are strong, but strength so employed is 
unavoidably a kin to coarseness. A more agreeable topic is the 
praise of temperance and simple diet, from which he easily slides 
into a beautiful moral passage, showing how much better riches 
may be employed than in the luxuries of the table — by relieving 
indigence and unfriended merit. One line is alnr.ost unri- 
valled in pathetic energy, 

Tliougii husli'd in psitient wretchedness at home. 

The opposite evils arising from too full and too scanty a diet 
are next enumerated, and cautions are given respecting the pro- 
gress from one to the other. The different regimen proper for 
the several seasons of the year is then touched upon ; and this 
naturally leads the poet to open a new source of variety in des- 
cription, derived from a view of human life as subsisting in cli- 
mates removed to the two extremes from our own. The pic- 
ture of the frigid zone is but slightly sketched ; that of the tor- 
rid regions is much more minute, and will strongly remind the 
reader of a similar one by the hand of Thomson ; but I dare not 
assert that it will lose nothing by the comparison. It is render- 
ed less appropriate, by the enumeration of vegetable articles 
which in reality belong to very different climates ; the cocoa and 
anana being many degrees separated from the countries rich in 
corn and wine. The cedar of Lebanon, likewise, as a native of 
the bleak tops of high mountains, ought not to be placed by the 
side of the palm and plantain. 

The succeeding passage, however, which paints the wonders 



276 ARMSTRONG. 

of the Naiad kingdom, though it also has its parallel in i\\t 
Seasons, is not, I think, surpassed by that, or any other poem, 
in strength and grandeur of description. The awful sublimity 
of the scenes themselves and the artifice of the poet in intro 
ducing himself as a spectator, and marking the supposed impres- 
sions on his own mind, elevate this piece to the very summit ot 
descriptive poetry. 

The praise of water-drinking follows ; with the precepts of the 
father of physic for choosing rightly this pure and innocent beve- 
rage. Notwithstanding the apparent earnestness with which the 
poet dwells on this topic, there is some reason to suspect that he 
was not quite hearty in the cause. For he not only adopts the 
notion of those who have recommended an occasional debauch, 
as a salutary spur to nature; but descanting on the necessity a 
man may find himself under to practise hard drinking in order 
to promote the pursuits of ambition or avarice, he advises him 
(between jest and earnest) to inure himself to the trial by slow 
degrees. Here the physician and sage seem lost in the jolly com- 
panion. He soon, however, resumes those characters ; and after 
remarking the tendency of a continued use of wine to bring on 
premature old age, he digresses into a theoretical account of the 
process by which the animal machine is gradually impeded in its 
motions, and at length comes to a full stop. This conducts him 
to a striking termination of the book, in a lofty description of the 
ravages made by time upon the works of human art, and the world 
itself. 

Exercise, the subject of the third book, is a theme more adapt- 
ed to poetry, and less immersed in professional disquisitions, 
than that of the preceding. Its benefits in the preservation of 
health are universally known ; and the poet's task is rather to 
frame upon it pictures agreeable to the imagination, than to treat 
of it in a closely preceptive or scientific manner. Dr. Armstrong 
begins with a lively portrait of the rustic, rendered firm and ro- 
bust by toil, like a sturdy oak of the forest; and he produces him 
as a specimen of the influence of exercise on the human frame. 
He then exhorts the votary of health to partake of the various 
kinds of rural pastime, the walk in all seasons, the chase, and 
the sport of fishing. This last amusement introduces a very 
pleasing passage, in which the poet characterises various streams, 
particularly the Liddel, on whose pastoral banks he first drew 
breath. The tribute of affection he pays to his native place, and 



ARMSTRONG. 277 

x\\c retrospect of his own boyish years, are sweetly interesting, 
and vie with all that Thomson and Smollet have written on a 
similar topic. 

The species of exercise afforded by gardening, gives occasion 
to a moral picture, of a man retired from public life, to the cul- 
tivation of his estate, surrounded with a select society of old 
companions, of the same tastes and pursuits with himself. This 
is wrought so much in the manner of Thomson, that were it not 
for some difference of style, it might pass undistinguished as a 
passage of the Seasons. The " noctes ccenseque deura" of Hor- 
ace, have contributed to adorn the piece. 

Resuming the medical consideration of exercise, he next ad- 
verts to its power in strengthening weak parts by habitual exer- 
tions ; and he dwells on the propriety of a gradual progress from 
rest to labour, and on the mischiefs attending too violent and 
heedless toils. This leads him to a serious and pathetic apos- 
trophe on the fatal effects proceeding from exposure to cold, oi 
draughts of cold liquor, when heated, which he represents as the 
most frequent of all causes of mortal disease. The ancient use 
of warm baths and unctions after exercise is his next topic, in 
speaking of which, he finds it necessary to touch upon that im- 
portant function of the body, insensible perspiration. The strict 
connection of this with health and disease, according as it is re- 
gular or deranged, has been a favourite argument with certain 
medical schools, and is here briefly illustrated in poetical lan- 
guage. The use of cold bathing in steeling the frame against 
the inclemencies of a cold climate, and the advantages of fre- 
quent ablution in hot ones, and of cleanliness in all, are further 
subjects of digression. 

He returns to the consideration of exercise, as it is limited 
by recurring changes of the day and year; warning against it 
while the body is loaded with food, and during the heats of a 
summer's noon, and the chills of evening. These preceptive re- 
marks lead him to a vein more fertile of ideas addressed to the 
imagination ; for conceiving the day to be sunk into the silence 
and gloom of midnight, he views the toil -spent hind wrapt in the 
arms of profound repose, the sweet soother of his labours. Hence 
he digresses to the subject of dreams, and paints in vivid colours 
the horrid scenes that disturb the mind during the delirium of 
unquiet slumber. The proper period in which sleep is to be in- 
dulged, with its due measure to different constitutions, are next 



^27B ARMSTRONG. 

considered. The influence of habit in this respect, brings on an 
exhortation to proceed very gradually in altering every corpo- 
real habit ; and this is made an introduction to a description of 
the successive changes of the year, with the distempers they bring. 
All this, and the remainder of the book, might perhaps with great- 
er propriety have made a part of the first head; since its connec- 
tion with exercise is less obvious than with air. To introduce in 
some part of his plan an account of epidemic diseases was, how- 
ever, evidently proper, both as matter for important instruction 
respecting the preservation of health, and as affording scope 
for poetical variety. After some common observations on the 
diseases of Spring and Autumn, and the means of guarding 
against them, with a forcible injunction against delay as soon as 
symptoms of danger appear ; the poet proceeds to an imitation 
of Virgil and Lucretius in the particular description of a pesti- 
lence ; and he very happily chooses for his subject the Sweating- 
Sickness which first prevailed in England when the Earl of Rich- 
mond, afterwards Henry VII. came hither on his expedition 
against the tyrant Richard. So many graphical descriptions in 
prose and verse have been made of visitations of this kind, that 
scarcely any source of novelty remained in the general circum* 
stances accompanying them. Dr. Armstrong has, therefore, ju- 
diciously introduced as much as possible of the particular cha- 
racter of this singular distemper, which, as far as we learn, was 
entirely unknown before, and has never appeared since that pe- 
riod. He has not even rejected certain popular errors prevalent 
respecting it, which, though they ought carefully to be avoided 
in a medical treatise, may perhaps be permitted to enhance the 
wonder of a poetical narration. Such is that, which asserts Eng- 
lishmen to have been its only victims, both in their own country 
and abroad — a notion which certainly adds to the interest with 
which a native of this country reads the relation. The conclu- 
sion of this book is a close copy from Virgil in the design, suit- 
ably varied in the circumstances. The deaths beyond the Atlan- 
tic allude to the unfortunate expedition to Carthagena, a popular 
topic of complaint at that period. 

The title with which the fourth and last book is inscribed, is 
Ihe Passions ; but its subject would be more accurately express- 
ed by the influence of the mind over the body — a large and ele- 
vated topic, detached from the technical matter of any particular 
profession, and in its full extent comprising every thing sublime 



ARMSTRONG. 279 

and affecting in moral poetry. The theory of the union of a spi- 
ritual principle with the gross corporeal substance, is that which 
the writer adopts as the basis of his reasonings. It is this ruling 
power which 

Wields at his will the dull material world, 
And is the body's health or malady. 

He evidently confounds, however, (as all writers on this system 
do) matter of great subtilty, with what is not matter — or spirit. 
These " viewless atoms," he says, " are lost in thinking," yet 
thought itself is not the enemy of life, but painful thinking, such 
as that proceeding from anxious studies, and fretful emotions. 
To prevent the baneful effects of these, he counsels us frequently 
to vary our objects, and to join the bodily exercise of reading 
aloud, to the mental labour of meditation. Solitary brooding 
over thoughts of a particular kind, such, especially, as pride or 
fear presents to the imagination, is warned against, in a passage 
full of energy, as the usual parent of madness or melancholy. 
Sometimes what the poet terms a chronic passion, or one arising 
from a misfortune which has made a lasting impression, such as? 
the loss of a beloved friend, produces a sympathetic languor in 
the body, which can only be removed by shifting the scene, and 
plunging in amusement or business. Some persons, however, 
take a less innocent method of dispelling grief, 

and in the tempting bowl 

Ofpoison'd nectar sweet oblivion swill. 

The immediately exhilirating effects, and the sad subsequent re- 
verse, attending this baneful practice, are here painted in the 
most vivid colouring, and form a highly instructive and pathetic 
lesson ; in particular, the gradual degradation of character which 
it infallibly brings on, is finely touched. 

A kind of moral lecture succeeds, introduced as the supposed 
precepts of a sage in human life, whose character is represented 
as a compound of manly sense and cheerfulness. How to acquire 
happiness by moderation in the pursuit of pleasure, and by the 
practice of virtue, is the topic of this passage, which, though cer- 
tainly digressive, has, however, a natural affinity with the lead- 
ing subject of the book. Virtue has seldom been characterised 
with more spirit and dignity ; and trite as the sentiments arc, 
the energy with svhich they are expressed commands attention. 



280 ARMSTRONG. 

The poet next reverts to his more direct purpose, that of con- 
sidering the passions in their influence upon bodily health. In 
general, he lays it down as a rule, that all emotions which are 
pleasing to the mind, are also salutary to the body. But there 
are exceptions, some being in their nature prone to hurtful ex- 
cess ; as an instance of which he gives the passion of Love. Here, 
again, he tries his strength with Thomson, and his description 
cannot but remind the reader of the fine picture of a love-sick 
youth drawn by that writer in his Spring. Thomson, however, 
dwells much more minutely on the mental effects of love. Arm- 
strong, with propriety, fixes the attention more on the changes 
it induces in the corporeal frame, and this, both as it is a pas- 
sion, and as it leads to sensual indulgences. With great force, 
yet with sufficient delicacy, he paints the condition of one un- 
nerved and exhausted by excess in amorous delights. This, in- 
deed, is deviating from the express subject of the book; since 
love as a passion, and the appetite for sexual enjoyment, are dis- 
tinct things, the latter being certainly able to subsist without 
the former, if not the former without the latter. But an insen- 
sible gradation led him easily from the one to the other. 

The passion of Anger is his next theme, and the bold personi- 
fication with which he has introduced it, is admirably suited to 
its violent and precipitate character. A fit of rage has frequent- 
ly been known at once to overpower the vital faculties, and strike 
with instant death. To guard against it was therefore a point 
of peculiar importance; and the poet has presented many strik- 
ing moral arguments against the indulgence of that habit which,, 
makes us prone to ungoverned sallies of this passion. But 
where reason proves too weak for the control of this and other 
unruly affections of the mind, to what other power shall we re- 
sort for aid ? We may, he hints, oppose passion to passion, and 
extinguish one by its opposite. But without dwelling on this 
contrivance (.which, indeed, is neither very philosophical nor 
manageable) he proceeds to recognise a power in Natuie which 
may be rendered the universal tranquilliser of the breast ; and 
this power is Music. With a contrasted description of the mu- 
sic which exercises this sympathetic dominion over the emo- 
tions, and that which is only the execution of difficult trifles, 
followed by an allusion to ^he fabulous stories of some ancient 
masters, and the praise of the art itself, the poet, somewhat ab- 
ruptly, closes the book and the work. 



ARMSTRONG. £81 

I'rom this cursory view of the contents of Dr. Armstrong's 
piece, it will probal^lj appear, that, together with a sufficient va- 
riety for the purpose of amusement, there is miiforraity of de- 
sign enough to constitute the proper character of a didactic poem. 
xVlmost every thing essential to the preservation of health is 
touched upon during its course; and the digressive parts are 
neither wholly impertinent to the main object, nor do they occu- 
py a disproportionate space. Many topics of an elevated nature 
are occasionally introduced ; and moral sentiment is agreeably 
interwoven with precept and description. The writer has, ap- 
parently, found some difficulty in adhering to tlie arrangement 
of his design ; for neither are the proposed topics of the four 
books equally copious of matter, nor has he with precision con- 
fined himself to the subjects belonging to each. However, as 
the real intention of such a work is not to afford systematic in- 
struction, but to impress the mind with detached particulars, and 
to amuse it with variety, objections in point of method are little 
to be regarded. If this performance on the whole offers a fund 
of useful advice and rational entertainment to every cultivated 
reader, and at the same time is in a good degree what it pro- 
fesses to be, it has fulfilled its purpose. 

It now remains to consider how far this work is characterised 
by any peculiarity of style and manner. 

English blank verse in its structure approaches so nearly to 
prose, that they who have employed it on elevated subjects, have 
adopted a variety of methods to give it the stamp of poetry. 
Some have transplanted as much as possible of the idiom of the 
ancient languages into their own. They have used words in un- 
common senses, derived rather from etymology than practice ; 
and in the formation of sentences, they have studiously deviated 
from the natural order, and copied the involutions and inver- 
sions of the Latin and Greek. Others have enriched their style 
with novel terms and compound epithets, and have aimed at an 
uncommon mode of saying the commonest things. Very dif- 
ferent from these is the manner of Armstrong. It is distinguish- 
ed by its simplicity — by a free use of words which owe their 
strength to their plainness — by the rejection of ambitious orna- 
ments, and a near approach to common phraseology. His sen- 
tences are generally short and easy, his sense clear and obvious. 
The full extent of his conceptions is taken at the first glance ; 
and there are no lofty mysteries to be unravelled by repeated 
N n 



382 



ARMSTRONG, 



perusal. "What keeps his language from being prosaic, is Uip 
vigour of his sentiments. He thinks boldly, feels strongly, and 
therefore expresses himself poetically. Where the subject sinks, 
his style sinks witli it; but he has for the most part excluded 
topics incapable either of vivid description, or of the oratory of 
sentiment. He had from nature a musical ear, whence his lines 
are scarcely ever harsh, and are usually melodious, though ap- 
parently without much study to render them so. Perhaps he has 
not been careful enough to avoid the monotony of making seve- 
ral successive lines close with a rest or pause in the sense. On - 
the whole, it may not be too much to assert, that no writer in ' 
blank verse can be found more free from stiflness and affectation, 
more energetic without harshness, and more dignified without 
formality. 



AN ESSAY 

ON 

THE POEMS OF 



■' MR. MATTHEW GREEN was of a family in good repute 
amongst the Dissenters, and had his education in the sect. He was 
a man of approved probity and sweetness of temper and man- 
ners. His wit abounded in conversation, and was never known 
to give the least offence. He had a post in the Custom House, 
and discharged the duty there with the utmost diligence and 
ability. He died at the age of forty-one years, at a lodging in 
Nag's Head Court, Gracechurch Street." — Dodsley's Collection 
of Poems, vol. I. 

In the productions of poetry, as in those of the other fine arts 
not only is consummate excellence in every point which contri- 
butes to the perfection of a work extremely rare, but a high de- 
gree of it in any one of these points is not frequently to be met 
with. If, as has been done with respect to painting and music, 
a scale were to be framed for poetical merit, in which all the 
principal qualities belonging to the art, such as invention, versi- 
fication, diction, pathos, and the like, were plated at the head of 
separate divisions with a number annexed denoting the max- 
imum of each,^ — how few poets could be found who might fairly 
be said to have reached that highest degree even in one of tliese; 
how much fewer, who have approached it in several ! 

In considering such a scale, it might be a question whether 
the poet who stood at a medium height in all of the divisions, or 
he wlio was at the top in one or two, and near the bottom in the 
rest, were the better artist ; but it could be no question whether 
the latter or the former were the greater genius. Excellence in 
one point will ever deserve a praise, to which mediocrity in many 
cannot arrive ; and though its productions may afford less of the 
calm delight received from performances in which taste and skill 



284 GREEN 

secure moderate satisfaction o.nd preclude disgust, yet thev 
will better deserve the study and admiration of a true lover of 
the art. 

It would be easy to enumerate various works of English poe- 
try possessed of this partial or disproportionate excellence ; and 
several of them maintain their place as acknowledged specimens 
of true genius, though perhaps they are more admired than read. 
But the celebrity of writers depends much upon accidental cir- 
cumstances; and if, in particular, we examine the share of fame 
obtained by our minor poets, whose performances have not mass 
enough to fill a considerable space in the public eye, we shall ' 
find it very far from commensurate with their proportion of merit. 
Besides the advantajres bestowed by high patronage and con- 
nections, and the praise of cotemporaries of name and reputation, 
there are certain merits more obvious to the generality of rea- 
ders than others of a superior order, as well as certain topics more 
popular and interesting than others. Thus it has happened, that 
the soft and harmonious elegies of Hammond, referring to a pas- 
sion familiar to all the readers of poetry, and replete with senti- 
ments pleasing and natural, though none of them original to the "] 
writer, and sometimes bordering on triteness and insipidity — 
have had much more fortune in the world than the pieces of 
Green, distinguished as they are by brilliancy and originality of 
thought, but singular in their subject and somewhat uncouth in 
their manner. 

The writer before us was neither by education nor situatiou , 
in life qualified to attain skill in those constituent parts of poe-» 
tical composition upon which much of its elegance and beauty .' 
depend. He had not, like a Gray or a Collins, his mind early ' 
fraught with ail the stores of classic literature ; nor could he de- 
vote months and years of learned leisure to the exquisite charms 
of versification or rhe refined ornaments of diction. He was a 
man of business, who had only the intervals of his regular em- 
ployment to improve his mind by reading and reflection; and 
his poems appear to have been truly no more than hasty eiFu- " 
sions for the amusement of himself and his particular friends. 
Numbers of works thus produced are born and die in the 
circle of every year ; and it is only by the stamp of real ge- 
nius that these have been preserved from a similar fate. But 
nature had bestowed on the author a strong and quick con- 
ception, and a wonderful power of bringing together remote 



GREEN. 285 

ideas so as to produce the most novel and striking effects. 
No man ever thought more copiously or with more orginality ; 
no man ever less fell into the beaten track of common place 
ideas and expressions. That cant of poetical phraseology which 
is the only resource of an ordinary writer, and which those of 
a superior class find it difficult to avoid, is scarcely any where 
to be met with in him. He has no hackneyed combinations of 
substantives and epithets ; none of the tropes and figures of a 
school boy's Gradus. Often negligent, something inaccurate, and 
not unfrequently prosaic, he redeems his defects by a rapid va- 
riety of beauties and brilliancies all his own, and affords more 
food to the understanding or imagination in a line or a couplet, 
than common writers in half a page. In short, if in point of 
versification, regularity, and correctness, his place is scarcely 
assignable among the poets; in the rarer qualities of variety and 
vigour of sentiment, and novelty and liveliness of imagery, it 
would not be easy to find any, in modern times at least, who 
has a right to rank above him. 

The longest and most elaborate of Mr. Green's compositions, 
and that by which he is best known, is an epistolatory piece en- 
titled The fcpleen, of which the ingenious and elegant Mr. Mel- 
moth has said, " that there are more original thoughts thrown to- 
gether than ever he had read in the same compass of lines.-' 
The writer calls it a motley performance, and apologises for its 
want of method : a general subject may, however, be traced 
through it, which is, the art of attaining a tranquil state of mind, 
undisturbed by vexatious emotions and gloomy imaginations, and 
free from that mixture of listlessness and melancholy which has 
been denominated the Spleen. For this purpose, a sort of regi- 
men for the soul is laid down, consisting chiefly in the practice 
of an easy good humoured philosophy, resembling that of Horace 
in his gay but sober mood, and comprising the best practical 
Epicurean system that has, perhaps, ever been sketched out. 
To speculate upon the various scenes of human life without deep- 
ly engaging in them ; to indulge the excursions of fancy, but to 
restrain conduct by the reins of prudence ; to give free entrance 
to all musive and agreeable objects, and carefully to exclude all 
of an opposite kind — are the principal heads of his didactic mat- 
ter. But it appears to have been no small part of his design, to 
take the occasion his subject afforded, of bestowing strokes of sa- 
tire en passant ; at the same time that a fixed antipathy to those 



286 GREEN. 

high claims upon our belief and acquiescence which cramp the 
exertions of reason and liberty, and a tendency to free specula- 
tion concerning theological topics, are sufficiently discernible 
throughout the piece. It is not the purpose of this Essay to give 
a moral or philosophical comment upon the author's system. 
Readers may take what they approve of it— and surely much 
may be approved — without embarrassing themselves about the 
rest. It is thus that Horace is read by all his rational admirers. 
Meantime, as all we know of Mr. Green authorises us to believe 
that he led an innocent and useful life we may conclude that 
he, at least, received no injury from his speculative tenets ; de- 
serving, on this account, a praise the opposite of that bestow- 
ed by Dr. Johnson on some of the subjects of his biographical 
sketches, who are commended for the stedfastness with which 
they held orthodox opinions, in the midst of worthless and li- 
centious lives. ^ 

To proceed to a more particular survey of the poem : — The 
author, after an introduction in which, with great truth, he dis- 
claims plagiarism, represents his purpose to be, that of replying 
to his friend's question, " what method he took to keep oflf attacks 
of the Spleen, and preserve serenity through the storms of the 
world." He sets out with a novel and very appropriate image 
of this noxious being, whom he represents as holding a magic 
lanthorn, by means of which he throws frightful figures upon the 
scene of life — an idea thought worthy of being copied in one ot 
the designs with which the poem has been decorated. 

The corporeal regimen prescribed against the Spleen consists 
of temperance and exercise. The early hours of the hunter, 
whose sport he recommends, gives occasion to a spirited picture 
of morning freeing herself from the defilements of the night, and 
triumphantly mounting the skies, which affords a specimen of 
his talents for inventive description; as the well known line con- 
cerning exercise, 

Fling but a stone, tlie giant dies, 

does of his singular turn for ingenious allusion. 

A satirical and entertaining enumeration follows, of objects 
proper to dispel Spleen by the ridicule they excite. This is 
succeeded by a description of the effects of theatrical represen- 
tations, and music, in harmonising the soul ; — which, however, 



GREEN. 9jS7 

cannot be much praised for originality. The description of a 
rainy day and its resources has more novelty ; and the simile of 
the flying iish, with the allusions to the ark, and the manna of 
the Israelites, are striking specimens of the author's peculiar 
manner. It may be remarked respecting Green, (and I believe 
the remark would apply to many other writers educated among 
the Dissenters) that he abounds in references to scripture his- 
tory ; a habit derived from early familiarity with those writings, 
which has not unfrequently survived any particular veneration 
for their authority. 

There is much feeling as well as fancy in the testimony given 
to the power possessed by the fair sex in banishing intrusions of 
Spleen. The contrast of black eyes and blue eyes is very strik- 
ing ; and the allusion to the miracle of St. Januarius's head is 
one of the most ingenious in the piece. The succeeding grave 
censure on modern female education may suggest useful reflec- 
tions ; yet few, it may be supposed, will now concur in the ad- 
vice to confine girls for their security within " the safe high wall 
of ignorance." 

What to avoid, is the next topic of the author's friendly ad- 
monition. At the head of the particulars enumerated he places, 
properly enough, that species of religion which inculcates gloomy 
and desponding ideas. With no less prudence he cautions against 
going to law ; and his allegory of a forest may by lawyers them- 
selves be admitted to be happily sustained. In warning against 
party strife, he takes occasion to characterise the two leading 
parties in church as they existed at his day. The contrast is 
drawn with truth and humour; but the force of his satirical wit 
is principally expended on the puritannical sect, the rigid and 
unamiable manners of which had very commonly the eftect of dis- 
gusting most those who from birth and education took the near- 
est survey of them. 

The nature and motives of the writer's present conformity are 
then explicitly stated. Not able to satisfy his doubts, he resorts 
to the laws for a decision, and goes " to Mecca with the cara- 
van." As a consequence of such a principle, it is not extraor- 
dinary to find him renouncing all "reforming schemes," the end 
of which he seems to think absolutely unattainable, and therefore 
rather chooses to laugh at the follies of mankind, than run the 
hazard of making himself unhappy by " baffled zeal.'' In this 
conclusion he appears more consistent than he is in the subse- 



288 • GREEN. 

quciit exceptions made in favour of a zeal for civil liberty and 
freedom of the press. But the fact probably was, that his origi- 
nal habits of thinking, as well as the prevailing spirit of the 
times, preserved his attachments, to the latter, while scepticism 
and the practice of occasional conformity had subdued his regard 
for religious truth. The passage, however, in which he main- 
tains the cause of liberty and knowledge, is striking and spirit- 
ed; and there is much pregnant truth in the concluding remark, 
that they who apply the gag, always rob first. 

He proceeds in his enumeration of the things to be avoided, as 
parents of disappointment and chagrin. A very lively and ap- 
propriate image of Fortune, or rather Court-favour, is given in 
the similitude of a figure sportively throwing the reflected light 
of a mirror into the eyes of a gaping crowd. Like many other 
poets. Green is a declaimer against his own art ; and indulges in 
some lively strictures upon those who mistake a fond desire after 
poetical fame, for real talents, as well as upon those who sup 
port their claims to reputation by plagiarism and artifice. The 
denomination of " the hop-grounds of the brain" given to verse^ 
is peculiarly happy. His praise of Glover, another citizen-poet 
of distinguished merit, is liberal and affectionate. 

Quitting admonition and satire, he comes at length to the direct 
means of procuring happiness in life ; and having preluded with 
a rapturous address to contentment, he pours forth his sweetest 
strains, and the most pleasing effusions of his fancy, in a wish. 
Many poets have anticipated him in the indolent amusement of 
building castles in the air; but I know not if any one has been 
so successful in delineating a scene captivating to the lover of 
rural beauty and philosophic retirement. It is equally delightful 
as a piece of landscape painting, and as a moral portraiture ; and 
the plan of life it lays down is a happy medium between that of 
the contemplative sage, and of the rational man of the world, 
who knows how to appreciate its comforts and enjoyments. 

He next touches upon a higher topic, and with the seriousness 
of one friend addressing another, displays his sentiments con- 
cerning the prospects of a future existence. Whatever be thought 
of his mode of philosophising, it will not be denied that the whole 
passage is eminently distinguished by his characteristic vigour 
of expression and liveliness of fancy ; and the spirited assertion 
of a free right to private judgment, uncontroled by those who 
boast themselves " lords of the manor of the soul,'' will meet vrith 



GREEN. 289 

the concurrence of all whom such a writer could in any degree 
expect to please. The address to the Creator, suddenly checked 
by a consciousness of incapacity, and terminating in 'mute praise 
and humble negatives," almost reaches the sublime. 

The allegor}' representing human life as a voyage, with which 
the piece concludes, is an extremely hackneyed one. It may be 
traced through poets of various periods and nations ; and, in par- 
ticular, has been more than once employed by Horace, in pas- 
sages in every one's memory. But perhaps it can no where be 
met with applied with so much exactness, and with such a varie- 
ty of circumstances, as in the present instance. Reason sitting 
at the helm of the vessel, the Passions forming the crew, Philo- 
sophy putting forth the lights. Experience employing the glass 
and lead, the careening places ot Bath and Tunbridge, and the 
dolphins sporting around, all together compose a wonderfully 
animated picture, clear in its conception, and happy in its re~ 
semblance. 

Such is this singular poem on the Spleen, which few persons, 
it is imagined, will once read, without frequent re-perusals, every 
ane of which will be repaid by new discoveries of uncommon 
and ingenious turns of thought. It possesses that undoubted 
mark of excellence, the faculty of impressing the memory with 
many of its strong sentiments and original images : and perhaps 
uot more lines of Hudibras itself have been retained by its ad- 
;nirers, than of this poem. 

The Epigram on Echard's and Burnet's Histories, and The 
Sparrow and Diamond, are sprightly trifles, on which it is unne- 
aessary to bestow any remarks. 

The Seeker is a curious piece of theological painting in the 
iiumoi'ous style, the figures of which many will recognise to be 
Irawn from the life. 

The poem on Barclay's Apology for the Quakers is written 
perfectly in the manner of the serious and philosophical part 
[)f The Spleen ; and is, indeed, an admirable piece, clear and 
correct in its language, and full of original thoughts. The de- 
scription of the retired votary, receiving in silence and self an- 
nihilation the visitation of the spirit, is very striking and poeti- 
cal, and renders solemn and impressive what has more com- 
monly been represented in a ludicrous manner. The sentence. 

For so fliviiie aud pure a guest 
The emiiliest rooms nrc iiirnish'd best, 
o 



290 GREEN. 

is, indeed, capable of a sinister interpretation ; but from the 
general air of the passage, he could not intend a sarcasm in this 
place ; and the emptiness must mean no more than what proceeds 
from the temporary exclusion of external objects. Though there 
is an occasional sportiveness in his manner there seems no rea- 
son to doubt that he was in earnest in his approbation of the 
Quaker system, at least so far as to reckon it the nearest ap- 
proach to pure Christianity ; and his allusion to the case of king 
Agrjppa fairly displays the state of his mind. His apologies for 
not openly adopting the principles he approves, have all the ap- 
pearance of sincerity, and are such as will touch the heart of 
every reader whose situation in life prevents him from acting up 
to his convictions. The honest confession, 

Like yoti 1 think, but cannot live 

might become many characters of higher pretension than Mr. 
Green. : .. 

The most singular of our author's poems is entitled The Grotto, 
and was written on the erection of one of those edifices in Rich- 
mond Gardens by queen Caroline. It is not easy to say what 
sort of a poem such a subject should naturally produce ; but we 
may be assured that from no other pen would it have produced 
any thing similar to the present. Yet, digressive as it is, we may 
discern a general design running throught it, that of considering 
the Grotto as 

A temple from vain glories free, 
WlKjse goddess is Piiilosophy ; 

an idea suggested as well by the character of the elevated per- 
sonage who built it, as by the busts of the great men with which 
it was furnished. This edifice is the same that Pope invidiously 
calls the "hermitage" in which Dr. Clark was improperly placed; 
but no one free from party prejudice will think that he disgraces 
his company. The variety of thoughts which our author has 
found means to connect by his plan is very extraordinary, and 
many of them are truly admirable, though we may sometimes 
" wonder how the devil they came there." The character of the 
heathen deities, and the necessity imputed to them of "recruit- 
ing from earth's first commoners," are excellent strokes of sa- 
tire. The comparison of the insect tribe with the human race 
is lively, but one does not see what insects have peculiarly to do 
with a grotto. 



GREEN. 291 

One of the best and most appropriate passages is the enumera- 
tion of things which should, as it were, be exorcised frtiin this 
sacred spot. Many of them are characterised with peculiar feli- 
city, as scandal, adulation, spleen, and prophecy. The mention 
of Melancholy among the group, serves to bring in the writer's 
Delia, whom we may suppose to be some favourite fair, too much 
addicted to gloom and low spirits. She is made the vehicle of 
some very sprightly and poetical description, thougli perfectly 
digressive from the topic of the piece. The comparison of the 
soul in a pensive fit to a sick linnet, and that of the teaiful circle 
i'ound the eye to a halo about the moon, are highly ingenious; 
and the enumeration of superstitious terrors is well conceived. 
Were we inclined to moralise on the occasion, it might be sug- 
gested, that this disposition to indulge in gloomy and terrific 
imaginations has been too much encouraged by some late works 
of fiction, which have delighted in painting with all the strength 
of pencil 



in antique hall 



The moonlight monsters on the wall; 
And shadowy spectres darkly pass 
Trailing their sables o'er the grass. 

After this excursion, the poet returns to his exorcism, forbid- 
ding the entrance of the grotto to various other inauspicious Ije- 
ings, among whom the bigot is well characterised, as confined to 
look one way only 

Through blinkers of authority. 

He then invokes the proper nymph of the place, who seems to be 
the Urania mentioned in a former part of the piece, and allots 
her the fit companions, reason, religion, philosophy, and morals, 
—-religion having first ceased " crusading against sense," and 
renewed her ancient alliance with philosophy. He represents 
nature as smiling at the nymph's presence, and zephyr " playing 
with her curls instead of leaves. '' In conclusion, he raises the 
fair sex to the upper seats of the shrine, and pursues a very fan- 
ciful parallel between the female form and mind, and some of 
the phenomena of nature. The poem terminates with a just com- 
pliment to the royal founder of the gidtto, wi'o, though a queen 
prised the friends of freedom, and canonised wise men though a 
woman. 



292 GREEN. 

It appears that this piece was printed at its lirst composition, 
but not published. Probably the author was sensible that it was 
likely neither to be relished nor understood by the common readers 
of grotto poetry. Indeed, it is not calculated to give out its beau- 
ties, or its meaning, to a single perusal ; yet it will amply repay 
a closer examination. Why it was to pass under the name of "a 
Fisherman of Brentford" is not apparent. Certainly, it is ex- 
tremely remote from the simple and rustic character which would 
suit a supposed author of that class. 

The poems of Green, which have hitherto appeared chiefly or 
solely in miscellaneous collections, do not seem favourably placed 
in them, since the reader, in the midst of a variety of light and 
agreeable pieces, is apt to overlook those of more thought and 
solidity, especially if they have any thing forbidding in their first 
aspect. If their separate publication shall mark them out more 
pointedly to the lovers of English poetry, it is presumed that the 
writer's fame and the reader's pleasure will receive an equa^ 
accession. 



4 



A 
CRITICAL ESSAY 

ON 
OF 

THE CHASE. 



THE true idea of a didactic poem being once established — that 
its real purpose is not to teach, but to amuse under the semblance 
of teaching — it will remain to be considered, what kinds of sub 
jects afford the happiest themes for these compositions. The 
two great requisites appear to be, interest and variety. With 
out the former, the work will prove insipid ; without the latter, 
tedious. The first point is secured by choosing a topic which 
is capable of rousing the passions, or, at least, of agitating the 
mind by lively emotions. The second is attained by frequent 
changes of scenery, and a due mixture of images derived from 
the senses and the understanding. 

The subject of the poem before us will, it is presumed, be ge- 
nerally thought to possess both these advantages in no incon- 
siderable degree. As far as instinctive propensities can be at- 
tributed to man, it may be asserted that he has ever, in almost 
all the different states of society in which he has been placed, 
exhibited a native passion for the chase ; and he may, perhaps, 
be denominated a hunting animal, with as much propriety as the 
dog or the panther. Like the former of these, he receives de- 
light from the chase itself, independently of the acquisition ;' for 
it is found, that no degree of plenty obtained by the labours of 
others, or by exertions of a different kind, has been able to sub- 
due that ardour by which many are impelled to incur hardships, 
iatigues, and even dangers, in pursuit of an object, which would 



294 yOMERVILLE. 

be perfectly trifling, were it not for the gratification experienced 
in the very pursuit. What but the chase (or war, wliich is an 
image of it,) can urge the rich man to forego the pleasures of 
luxurious indolence, and submit to privations and bodily suft'er- 
ings which for a time put him upon a level with the lowest ol 
his train ? — while the poor man is equally prone to encounter 
hazards of all kinds for the sake of a participation in the same 
animating delights. M. de Saussure, in his travels among the 
Alps, giving an account of the dangerous sport of chamois-hunt- 
ing, relates the following circumstance. " 1 knew a young man, 
of an engaging figure and countenance, just married to a charm- 
ing woman, who, in conversing upon this subject, said to me, 
My grandfather died in the chase, so did m^ father, and so per- 
suaded am I that the same will be my destiny, that 1 call this 
sack which 1 take with me on my hunting expeditions, my wind- 
ing-sheet, because 1 am certain 1 shall have no other. And yet, 
Sir, were you to oiFer to make my fortune on condition of my re- 
nouncing chamois-hunting, I would not comply." Within two 
years the poor man's prediction was verified. M. de Saussure, 
in accounting for this extraordinary passion, which could not be 
excited by any reasonable hopes of profit, justly attributes its 
power to the alternations of hope and fear, and the perpetual 
agitation of the mind from these strong emotions, which actuate 
the hunter as they do the gamester, the warrior, and the navi- 
gator. 

With respect to the variety afforded by the chase as a subject 
for the poet, it is considerable, not only in direct description, 
but in digressive and incidental matter. The speculatist, who 
is inclined to take a wide range, may descant on various topics 
of philosophy and natural history connected with it; such as the 
separate powers of instinct and education in animals, the oppo- 
site laws of preservation and destruction in the economy of na- 
ture, the influence of climate and season, and the moral effects 
of the passion for the chase. If to these be added, historical di- 
gressions relative to the manners of different stages of society 
and periods of the world with respect to this object, intermixed, 
perhaps, with a portion of mythology, which might without force 
be introduced, it will appear, that a poem on hunting may pos- 
sess compass and elevation enough to prove interesting even to 
those who are not practically attached to the sports of the field. 

The poem of Mr. Somerville, however, is much less a philoso- 



SOMERVILLE. 295 

phical than it Is a descriptive one. The writer was a real, not 
a speculative, sportsman ; and it was not till fixed to his elbow- 
chair by infirmity, that he thought of writing on the chase, in- 
stead of following it. Classically educated, but, as it appears, 
with a mind not remarkably opened by habits of investigation, 
or elevated by images of the fancy, he has produced a piece, the 
principal excellence of which consists in pictures drawn from the 
life, and animated by the warm genuine feelings of the painter. 
The language, the sentiments, the incidents, all display perfect 
acquaintance with the scenes described ; and in hurrying from 
narration to narration, with little interposition of digressive and 
fanciful matter,, he seems rather borne directly onward by his 
ardour for a favourite subject, than bounded by incapacity for 
excursive flights. By his manner of writing he has certainly at- 
tained that which should be the principal aim of every writer, 
whether in verse or prose— he has deeply interested his reader 
in his descriptions, and has placed every thing before the ima- 
gination in the strong light and vivid colours of reality. But 
the merit of the work is not confined to truth and spirit alone. 
Its plan and arrangement are formed with competent skill ; va- 
riety and contrast are studied with success; and the attempt, at 
least, to break the uniformity of description by the intermixture 
of sentiment and reflection has not been neglected. 

To proceed to a more particular examination of the poem: — 
After a dedicatory address to the Prince of Wales, in strains 
sufficiently adulatory, the writer give^ a slight sketch of the ori- 
gin of hunting in times of barbaiism, and of its introduction ia 
a more polished form into this island. The brevity with which 
he passes over tiiese topics, certainly not unfertile of poetical 
ideas, proves his impatience to quit speculation and conjecture 
for the realities of description. A short but spirited passage on 
the praises of Britain, next introduces the proposed subject of 
the work, declared in an address to the youth of hereditary land- 
ed property; and the poet feelingly alludes to his own situation, 
prevented by years and infirmities from joining in the pleasures 
of the chase, but still recalling with delight his former triumphs, 
and pleased to point out to others the way to like renown. 

The proper business of the book commences with a descrip- 
tion of the dog-kennel, in which he soon exhibits his talent for 
accurate and lively painting, by representations of the pack is- 
suing forth in the morning, oppressed by the fervor of noon, 



296 SOMERVILLE. 

bathing in the cool stream, sporting with each other, and engag- 
ing in broils and combats. A particular and beautiful descrip- 
tion of the hare hound or beagle succeeds, which is followed by 
a sketch of other kinds, adapted for different departments of the 
chase. This introduces a digression concerning the blood-hounds 
which were formerly kept on the Scottish border, and employed 
in detecting robbers. The picture of one of these at work in 
pursuing by the scent and at last detecting the felon, is highly 
animated. Hence the poet is naturally led to some philosophi- 
cal discussion on the nature and cause of those effluvia which 
exercise the admirable sagacity of the canine species; and he 
concludes the book with showing the effects of atmospherical 
changes on the scenting power of dogs, and with some liberal 
sentiments concerning the advantages of a cultured mind in ena- 
bling a person to enjoy at home those days which are unfit for 
the diversions of the field. 

The second book opens with a philosophical subject, which 
the poet, had he been so disposed, might not unsuitably have 
pursued to a greater extent. It is the power of instinct in 
modifying the actions and habits of the brute creation. He 
contents himself, however, with instancing its effects in two ani- - 
mals, the roebuck and the hare. In speaking of the latter, 
he slides into a fuller description ol its manners and mode of 
life, preparatory to the first grand picture in his work, that of a 
hare-hunt. A pleasing view of autumn, and a spirited sketch of 
the dawn of day, are the immediate preludes. The impatience 
of the fiery courser, and the ecstasy of the pack let loose from 
their kennel, and ready to begin the chase, are finely painted. 
The ensuing description receives peculiar value from its circum- 
stantial minuteness; which, displayed in natural and energetic 
language, intermixed with bursts of genuine feeling, gives won- 
derful force and truth to the whole scenery. If any one com- 
pares the finished picture of a chase by Somerville, with the 
draughts by Thomson, formed upon general ideas, and inter- 
spersed with sentiment and reflection, he will be sensible of the 
great difference between writing upon a topic merely as belong- 
ing to a general subject, and indulging in a favourite theme, 
which dwells on the mind in the vivid colours of memory anifi 
affection. It would be scarce possible even in prose to describe 
the hunting of the hare with more exactness than is here done) 
yet the language throughout is sufficiently elevated, and some o| 



SOMERVILLE. 9.97 

the passages are truly poetical. Such is Miat describing ihe mu- 
sic of the chase, and its fascinating eftect upon all the hearers; 
well exemplifying the universality of that passion which urges 
men to partake of the hunter's pastime. Though there are 
touches in the representation which may call forth the emotions 
of pity in a feeling mind, yet the poet has judiciously refrained 
from enforcing them by moral sentiment and reflection, which 
would act in contradiction to his purpose. Tiie effect of the op- 
posite conduct of Thomson, in converting a joyous scene into a 
melancholy one, is obvious. 

This humble though animated English hunting piece is suc- 
ceeded by a contrast, representing the chase in its utmost pomp 
and magnificence, with respect both to the persons engaged in 
it, and the objects. It is an eastern picture, copied from the re- 
lations of travellers ; and to which, therefore, the writer has 
brought nothing but his acquired skill in poetical painting, with 
the enthusiasm inspired by a favourite subject. It is truly a grand 
and noble piece, abounding in rich images and striking incidents, 
and wrought with great force and distinctness of colouring. Its 
character being, as it were, historical, there is little scope for 
strokes of H)c fancy; yet the effect of the martial music and 
shouts of the surrounding hunters upon the inclosed wild beasts, 
is conceived with true poetic imagination : 

— — tjgers fell 

Shrink at the noise ; deej) in kis gloomy den 
The lion staits, and morsels yet unchewed 
Drop from his trembling jaws. 

And the mutual rage of the encircled savages against each other^ 
with their sudden tameness at the approach of their human foe, 
are striking ideas. If any objection lies against this splendid 
picture, it is, that being introduced thus early, it has a tendency 
to flatten and diminish the subsequent scenes. We shall see, 
however, that the poet has made the best use of his personal 
knowledge, to throw an interest, by force and clearness of cir- 
cumstance, upon the home descriptions which he afterwards in- 
troduces. 

The third book commences with the fox-chase, a subject which 
he seems to have laboured more con amore than an}- other. It is, 
indeed, the capital scene of action to the English sportsman ; for 
though the stag is a much nobler object of pursuit, the chase of 



298 SOMERVILLE. 

the fox more abounds with variety of incidents, and is a severer 
trial to the spirit of the hunters, and the perseverance of the dogs 
and horses. The brief account of the extirpation of the wolf, a 
kindred animal, from this island, forms an appropriate introduc- 
tion. The casting off of the hounds, their working upon the scent, 
the unkennelling of the fox, his breaking away to the open coun- 
try, and the full cry of the pack, are all highly animated pictures. 
In the pursuit, somewhat of the ludicrous is intermixed, together 
with some pathetic incidents, which last appear rather incon- 
gruous in a scene which is represented as inspiring " the madness 
of delight." 

The notice taken of other modes of destroying this noxious 
animal, introduces a digression, in which are described the me- 
thods of taking the lion and the elephant in pitfalls, the curious 
manner of hunting the leopard by means of a mirror, and a wild- 
boar chase. All these pictures are copied from other authors, 
and of course are not enlivened with the spirit and circumstance 
of the British ones. Yet they afford an agreeable variety ; and 
the draughts of the lion astonished by his fall into the pit, and 
of the elephant issuing majestically from his covert in the even- 
ing, are vigorously conceived. 

The other capital picture of this book is that of a stag hunt in 
Windsor forest. Though vastly inferior in magnificence to that 
of the Indian hunting before described, it is, however, drawn in 
a dignified style, and made to partake of the polish and splen- 
dour of a court. Such being its character, it is no wonder that 
the ardour and animation congenial to the chase when partaken 
of by equals, is somewhat kept down ; and that a kind of awe 
and respect for the exalted personages who compose the princi- 
pal figures takes place of the sportiiian's rapture. This, too, is 
the only scene in which ladies are introduced as forming part of 
the group ; whence gallantry has its share in the sentiments. 
But, much as we must admire the graceful form of the huntress* 
the pensive lover at her side makes rather an insipid figure. 
There is, however, considerable variety and interest in the events 
of the chase ; and much diligence is employed to render the de- 
scriptions full and poetical. It concludes with a compliment to 
the sovereign on a supposed exertion of mercy in saving the life 
of the hunted animal ; but the occasion is too trivial to justify 
tlve pomp of the sentiment. 

The fourth book commences with a strain of philosophising, 



SOMERVILLE. 299 

'le (Iritt of which it is not easy to discover. If the purpose were 
to establish the position, that unless a pack of hounds be recruited 
with a young brood, it will fall to decay, less eftort and solem- 
nity would have sufficed : it serves, however, as an introduction 
to various didactic topics belonging to his general subject; such 
as, the mode of rearing a young progeny, the choice of those 
which are best worth preserving, and the discipline by which they 
are to be trained, all which are treated in an interesting manner. 
The character of the babbling and unsteady hound is well drawn; 
and the method of curing the propensity to worrying sheep forms 
a natural and humourous picture. Touching on the diseases of 
dogs, the poet is led to a particular description of that dreadful 
malady, canine madness, in which the contrasted figures of me- 
lancholy and fury in the animal subject are sketched with great 
force. In describing the hydraphobia in the human subject, he 
seems not equally successful ; and more knowledge of fact 
would have enabled him to render the draught more striking, 
without any mixture of fabulous circumstances. All this part of 
the fourth book would seem more naturally attached to the first, 
which treats of introductory matter; but the writer probably re- 
served it for this place, in order to break that continuity of hunt- 
ing pieces, which might otherwise have proved tiresome. The 
last picture of this kind is well discriminated from the rest by a 
change of scene to another element. The chase of the otter, 
though an animal rather mean and inconsiderable, affords some 
Tery lively and amusing description. The view of a rivilet, and 
the various tribes of fish by which it is peopled, is truly beautiful; 
and there are some very picturesque touches in the watery land- 
scape of the otter's retreat. It may be remarked, that though 
every former chase has contained full and rapturous descriptions 
of the "gallant chiding," the music of the hound and horn, the 
poet has been able in the present to repeat it with circumstances 
of novelty that give it striking eflfect 

The poem concludes with an imitation of Virgil's well known 
praise of a rural life, in the second Georgic. The application, 
however, is less happy than in the original; for the poem of 
Somerville being professedly addressed to the heirs of great fa- 
milies, as those best qualified to enjoy the pleasuresof the chase, 
there exists no real opposition between them and the possessors 
of opulence and splendour. It is true, he has, as much as pos- 
sible, given it the turn of a contrast between town and country — 



300 SOMERVILLE. 

between the ambitious courtier and tbe sportsman ; but since, in 
fact, the fox hunter in the country is often a politician in town, 
and hunting matches are usually associated with party, the dis- 
tinction is rather apparent than real. Further, the sports of the 
hunter are noisy, tumultuous, attended with parade, and gene- 
rally ending in conviviality; they ill accord therefore, with the 
calm, retired, reflective disposition of the lover of nature and 
votary of philosophy. If these tastes were united in Somerville, 
it is certain that they are rarely found to be so in his brother 
sportsmen. In reality, it is not among them that the admirers 
even of a poem on the chase are to be looked for. This work will 
briefly be read by the readers of English poetry in general ; and 
its chief merit will be, to have attorded them a source of pleas- 
ing novelty ; — to have placed in their view a set of lively pictures, 
which will strike with the appearance of truth even those who 
are not practical judges of their subjects. 

From what has been above remarked, the poetical character of 
Somerville will be easily deduced. He is strictly and almost 
solely a descriptive poet ; and his talent lies in delineating actual 
scenes with fidelity and spirit, adorning them with the beauties of 
diction, but leaving them to act upon the imaginatioi^by their own 
force, without aid from the creations of fancy. In classical allu- 
sion he is not deficient, but it is of the more common kind ; and 
little occurs in his writings that indicates a mind inspired by that 
exalted enthusiasm which denotes the genius of superior rank. 
His versification is generally correct and well varied, and evi- 
dently flows from a nice and practised ear. His language is well 
suited to his subjects, rising and sinking with them, and free from 
that stiffness and affectation so commonly attendant on blank 
verse. It more resembles that of Armstrong, than of Thomson 
or Akenside. Some of his other poems show him to have had a 
strong perception of the ludicrous ; and in this, too, traits of 
humour are discernible. On the whole, Somerville occupies a 
respectable place among our native poets ; and his Chase'is pro- 
babi V 'he best performance upon that topic which any country has 
produced. 



AN ESSAY 

ON 

rHE POETRY OF 



AMONG those false opinions which, having once obtained cur 
encj, have been adopted without examination, may be reckoned 
;he prevalent notion, that notwithstanding the improvement of 
this country in many species of literary composition, its poeti- 
:al character has been on the decline ever since the supposed 
\ugustan age of the beginning of the 18th century. No one 
5oet, it is true, has fully succeeded to the laurel of Dryden or 
Pope; but if without prejudice we compare the minor poets of 
;he present age [minor, I mean, with respect to the quantity, not 
he quality, of their productions) with those of any former pe- 
iod, we shall, I am convinced, find them greatly superior not 
)nly in taste and correctness, but in every other point of poeti- 
:al excellence. The works of many late and present writers 
liight be confidently appealed to in proof of this assertion ; but 
t will suffice to instance the author who is the subject of the 
^resent Essay ; and I cannot for a moment hesitate to place the 
[lame of Goldsmith, as a poet, above that of Addison, Parnel, 
rickel, Congreve, Landsdown, or any of those who fill the greater 
part of the voluminous collection of the English Poets. Of these, 
;he main body has obtained a prescriptive right to the honour of 
:lassical writers, while their works, ranged on the shelves as 
fiecessary appendages to a modern library, are rarely taken 
lown, and contribute very little to the stock of literary amuse- 
ment. Whereas the pieces of Goldsmith are our familiar com- 
panions ; and supply passages for recollection, when our minds 
are either composed to moral reflection, or warmed by strong 
emotions and elevated conceptions. There is, I acknowledge. 



302 GOLDSMITH. 

much of habit and accident in the attachments we fonn to par 
ticular writers ; yet I have little doubt, that if the lovers of Eng 
3ish poetry were confined 1o a small selection of authors, Gold 
smith would find a place in the favourite list of a great majority. 
And it is, I think, with much justice that a great modern critic 
has ever regarded this concurrence of public favour, as one of 
the least equivocal tests of uncommon merit. Some kinds of 
excellence, it is true, will more readily be recognised than others; 
and this will not always be in proportion to the degree of men- 
tal power employed in the respective productions ; but he who 
obtains general and lasting applause in any work of art, must 
have happily executed a design judiciously formed. This re- 
mark is of fundamental consequence in estimating the poetry of 
Goldsmith ; because it will enable us to hold the balance steady, 
when it might be disposed to incline to the superior claims of a 
style of loftier pretension, and more brilliant reputation. 

Compared with many poets of deserved eminence. Goldsmith 
will appear characterised by his simplicUy. In his language will 
be found few of those figures vvliich are supposed of themselves 
to constitute poetry ; — no violent transpositions ; no uncommon 
meanings and constructions ; no epithets drawn from abstract 
and remote ideas ; no coinage of new words by the ready mode 
of turning nouns into verbs; no bold prosopopoeia, or audacious 
metaphor : — it scarcely contains an expression which might not 
be used in eloquent and descriptive prose. It is replete with 
imagery; Dut that imagery is drawn from obvious sources, and 
rather enforces the simple idea, than dazzles by new and unex- 
pected ones. It rejects not common words and phrases ; and, 
like the language of Dryden and Otway, is thereby rendered the 
more forcible and pathetic. It is eminently nervous and con- 
cise ; and hence affords numerous passages which dwell on the 
memory. With respect to his matter, it is taken from human 
life, and the objects of nature. It does not body forth things 
unknown, and create new beings. Its humbler purpose is to re- 
present manners and characters as they really exist; to impress 
strongly on the heart moral and political sentiments ; and to fil 
the imagination with a variety of pleasing or affecting object, 
selected from the stores of nature. If this be not the highest 
department of poetry, it has the advantage of being the most 
universally agreeable. To receive delijiiit from the sublime fic- 
tions of Milton, the allegories of Spencer, the learning of Gray. 



GOLDSMITH. 303 

and the fancy of Collins, the mindmust have been prepared by 
a course of particular study ; and perhaps, at a certain period 
of life, when the judgment exercises a severer scrutiny over the 
sallies of the imajjination, the relish for ftrtificial beauties will 
always abate, if not entirely desert us. But at every age, and 
with every degree of culture, correct and well chosen represen- 
tations of nature must please. We admire them when young; 
we recur to them when old; and they charm us till nothing 
longer can charm. Further, in forming a scale of excellence for 
artists, we are not only to consider who works upon the noblest 
design, but who tills his design best. It is, in reality, but a poor 
excuse for a slovenly performer to say magnis tamen excidil 
ausis ; and the addition of one master-piece of any kind to the 
stock of art, is a greater benefit, than that of a thousand abortive 
and mis-shapen wonders. 

If Goldsmith then be referred to the class o( descriptive poets, 
including the description of moral as well as of physical nature, 
it will next be important to inquire by what means he has at- 
tained the rank of a master in his class. Let us then observe 
how he has selected, combined, and contrasted his objects, witli 
what truth and strength of colouring he has expressed them, and 
to what end and purpose. 

As poetry and eloquence do not describe by an exact enume- 
ration of every circumstance, it is necessary to se/ec^ certain par- 
ticulars which may excite a sufficiently distinct image of the 
thing to be represented. In this selection, the great art is to 
give characteristic marks, whereby the object may at once be re- 
cognised, without being obscured in a mass of common proper- 
ties, which belong equally to many others. Hence the great 
superiority of particidar images to general ones in description ; 
the former identify, while the latter disguise. Thus all the 
hackneyed representations of the country, in the works of ordi- 
nary versifiers, in which groves, and rills, and flowery meads are 
introduced just as the rhyme and measure require, present no- 
thing to the fancy but an indistinct daub of colouring, in which 
all the diversity of nature is lost and confounded. To catch the 
discriminating features, and present them bold and prominent, 
by few, but decisive strokes, is the talent of a master; and it will 
not be easy to produce a superior to Goldsmith in this respect. 
The mind is never in doubt as to the meaning of his figures, nor 



304 GOLDSMITH. 

does it languish over the survey of trivial and unappropriated 
circumstances. All is alive — all is filled — yet all is clear 

Tlie proper combination of objects refers to the impression they 
are calculated to make on the mind ; and requires that they 
should |iarmonise, and reciprocally enforce and sustain each 
other's effect. They should unite in giving one leading tone to 
the imagination ; and without a sameness of form, they should 
blend in an uniformity of hue. This, too, has very successfully 
been attended to by Goldsmith, who has not only sketched his 
single figures with truth and spirit, but has combined them into 
the most harmonious and impressive groups. Nor has any de- 
scriptive poet better understood the great force of contrast, in 
setting off his scenes, and preventing any approach to weari- 
someness by repetition of kindred objects. And with great skill, 
he has contrived that both parts of his contrast should conspire 
in producing one intended moral effect. Of all these excel- 
lencies, examples will be pointed out as we take a cursory view 
of the particular pieces. 

In addition to the circumstances already noted, the force and 
clearness of representation depend also on the diction. It has 
already been observed that Goldsmith's language is remarkable 
for its general simplicity, and the direct and proper use of words. 
It has ornaments, but these are not far-fetched. The epithets 
employed are usually qualities strictly belonging to the subject, 
and the true colouring of the simple figure. They are frequently 
contrived to express a necessary circumstance in the description, 
and thus avoid the usual imputation of being expletive. Of this 
kind are, " the rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;" " indnrat- 
ed heart ;'' " shed intolerable day ;'' " matted woods ;" " ventrous 
ploughshare ;" " equinoctial fervours." The examples are not 
few of that indisputable mark of true poetic language, where a 
single word conveys an image ; as in these instances : " resigna- 
tion gently slopes the way ;" " scoops out an empire ;" " the ves- 
sel idly waiting^ajos with every gale ;" " to winnow fragrance;*' 
" murmurs fluctuate in the gale." All metaphor, indeed, does 
this in some degree; but where the accessory idea is either indis- 
tinct or incongruous, as frequently happens when it is intro- 
duced as an artifice to force language up to poetry, the effect is 
only a gaudy obscurity. 

The end and purpose to which description is directed is what 
distinguishes a well planned piece from a loose effusion ; for 



GOLDSMITH. S05 

though a vivid representation of striking objects will ever afford 
some pleasure, yet if aim and design be wanting, to give it a 
basis, and stamp it with the dignity of meaning, it will in a long 
performance prove flat and tiresome. But tliis is a want which 
cannot be cliarged on Goldsmith ; for both the Traveller and the 
Deserted Village h-dve a great moral in view, to which the whole 
of tlie description is made to tend. I do not now inquire into 
the legitimacy of the conclusions he has drawn from his premises; 
it is enough to justify his plans, that such a purpose is included 
in them. 

The versification of Goldsmith is formed on the general model 
that has been adopted since the refinement of English poetry, 
and especially since the time of Pope. To manage rhyme coup- 
lets so as to produce a pleasing effect on the ear, has since that 
period been so common an attainment, that it merits no particu- 
lar admiration. Goldsmith may, I think, be said to have come 
up to the usual standard of proficiency in this respect, without 
having much surpassed it. A musical ear, and a familiarity with 
the best examples, have enabled him, without much apparent 
study, almost always to avoid defect, and very often to produce 
excellence. It is no censure of this poet to say that his versifi- 
cation presses less on the attention than his matter. In fact, he 
has none of those peculiarities of versifying, wliether improve- 
ments or not, that some who aim at distinction in this point have 
adopted. He generally suspends or closes the sense at the end 
of the line or of the couplet ; and therefore does not often give 
examples of that greater compass and variety of melody which is 
obtained by longer clauses, or by breaking the coincidences of the 
cadence of sound and meaning. He also studiously rejects trip- 
lets and alexandrines. But allowing for the want of these 
sources of variety, he has sufficiently avoided monotony ; and in 
the usual flow of his measure, he has gratified the ear with as 
much change, as judiciously shifting the line-pauses can produce- 
Having made these general observations on the nature of 
Goldsmith's poetry, I proceed to a survey of his principal pieces^ 
The Traveller, or Prospect of Society, was first sketched out 
by the author during a tour in Europe, great part of which he per- 
fomed on foot, and in circumstances which afforded him the full- 
est means of becoming acquaintnd wilh the most numerous class 
in society, peculiarly termed the people. The date of the first 
Qq 



306 GOLDSMITH. 

edition is 1765. It begins in the gloomy mood natural to genius 
in distress, when wandering alone 

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. 

After an affectionate and regretful glance to the peaceful seat 
of fraternal kindness, and some expressions of self-pity, the poet 
sits down amid Alpine solitudes to spend a pensive hour in 
meditating on the state of mankind. He finds that the natives 
of every land regard their own with preference ; whence he is 
led to this proposition, — that if we impartially compare the ad- 
vantages belonging to different countries, we shall conclude that 
an equal portion of good is dealt to all the human race. He fur- 
ther supposes, that every nation, having in view one peculiar 
species of happiness, models life to that alone ; whence this fa- 
vourite kind, pushed to an extreme, becomes a source of peculiar 
evils. To exemplify this by inscances, is the business of the 
subsequent descriptive part of the piece. 

Italy is thp first country that comes under review. Its general 
landscape is painted by a few characteristic strokes, and the 
felicity of its climate is displayed in appropriate imagery. The 
revival of arts and commerce in Italy, and their subsequent de- 
cline, are next touched upon ; and hence is derived the present 
disposition of the people — easily pleased with splendid trifles, 
the wrecks of their former grandeur ; and sunk into an enfeebled 
moral and intellectual character, reducing them to the level of 
children. 

From these he turns with a sort of disdain, to view a nobler 
race, hardened by a rigorous climate, and by the necessity of 
unabating toil. These are the Swiss, who find, in the equality 
of their condition, and their ignorance of other modes of life, a 
source of content which remedies the natural evils of their lot. 
There cannot be a more delightful picture than the poet has 
drawn of the Swiss peasant, going forth to his morning's labour, 
and returning at night to the bosom of domestic happiness. It 
sufficiently accounts for i\i?it patriot passion iov which they have 
ever been so celebrated, and which is here described in lines 
that reach the heart, and is illustrated by a beautiful simile. 
But this state of life has also its disadvantages. The sources ot 
enjoyment being few, a vacant listlessness is apt to creep upon 
the breast ; and if nature urges to throw this off by occasional 
bursts of pleasure, no stimulus can reach the purpose but gross 



GOLDSMITH. 307 

sensual debauch. Their morals, too, like their enjoyments, are 
of a coarse texture. Some sterner virtues hold high dominion 
in their breasts, but all the gentler and more refined qualities of 
the heart, which soften and sweeten life, are exiled to milder cli- 
mates. 

To the more genial climate o( France the Traveller next re- 
pairs, and in a very pleasing rural picture he introduces himself 
in the capacity of musician to a village party of dancers beside 
the murmuring' Loire. The leading feature of this nation he 
represents as being tiie love of praise ; which passion, while it 
inspires sentiments of honour, and a desire of pleasing, also af- 
fords a free course to folly, and nourishes vanity and ostenta- 
tion. The soul, accustomed to depend for its happiness on 
foreign applause, shifts its principles with the change of fashion, 
and is a stranger to the value of self-approbation. 

The strong contrast to this national character is souffht in 
Holland; a most graphical description of the scenery presented 
by that singular country, introduces the moral portrait of the 
people. From the necessity of unceasing labour, induced by 
their peculiar circumstances, a habit of industry has been form- 
ed, of which the natural consequence is a love of gain. The pos- 
session of exuberant wealth has given rise to the arts and con- 
veniences of life; but at the same time has introduced a crafty, 
cold and mercenary temper, which sets every thing, even liber- 
ty itself, at a price. How different, exclaims the poet, from 
their Belgian ancestors 1 how different from the present race of 
Britain ! 

To Britain, then, he turns, and begins with a slight sketch of 
the country, in which, he says, the mildest charms of creation 
are combined. 

Extremes are only in the master's mind. 

He then draws a very striking picture of a stern, thoughtful, in- 
dependent freeman, a creature of reason, unfasljioned by tht com- 
mon forms of life, and loose from all its ties; — and this he gives 
as the representative of the English character. A society form- 
ed by such unyielding self dependent beings, will naturally be 
a scene of violent political contests, and ever in a ferment with 
party. And a still worse fate awaits it; for the ties of nature, 
duty, and love failing, the fictitious bonds of wealth and law 



305 GOLDSMITH. 

must be empioyed to hold together such a reluctant association ; 
whence tho time may come, that valour, learning, and patriot- 
ism may all lie levelled in one sink of avarice. These are the 
ills of freedom ; but the poet, wha would unlv repress to secure, 
goes on to deliver his ideas of the cause of such mischiefs, which, 
he seems to place in the usurpations of aristocratical upon regal 
authority ; and with great energy he expresses his indignation 
at the oppressions the poorsufter from their petty tyrants. This 
leads him to a kind of anticipation of the subject of his Deserted 
Village, where, laying aside the politician, and resuming the 
poet, he describes, by a few highly pathetic touches, the depopu- 
lated fields, the ruined village, and the poor forlorn inhabitants 
driven from their beloved home, and exposed to all the perils of 
the trans-atlantic wilderness. It is by no means ray intention 
to enter into a discussion of Goldsmith's political opinions, which 
bear evident marks of confused notions and a heated imagina- 
tion. 1 shall confine myself to a remark upon the English na- 
tional character, which will apply to him in commoa with va- 
rious other writers, native and foreign. 

This country has long been in the possession of more unre- 
strained freedom of thinking and acting than any other perhaps 
that ever existed : a consequence of which has been, that all those 
peculiarities of character, which in other nations remain con- 
cealed in the general mass, have here stood forth prominent and 
conspicuous; and these being from their nature calculated to 
draw attention, have by superficial observers been mistaken for 
the general character of the people. This has been particularly 
the case with political distinction. From the publicity of all 
proceedings in the legislative part of our constitution, and the 
independence with which many act, all party differences are 
strongly marked, and public men take their side with openness 
and confidence. Public topics, too, are discussed by all ranks; 
and whatever seeds there are in any part of the society of spirit 
and activity, have full opportunity of germinating. But to ima- 
gine that these busy and high spirited characters compose a ma- 
jority of the community, or perhaps a much greater proportion 
than in other countries, is a delusion. This nation, as a body, 
is, like all others, characterised by circumstances in its situation; 
and a rich commercial people, long trained to society, inhabiting 
a climate where many things are necessary to the comfort of 



GOLDSMITH. 309 

life, and under a government abounding with splendid dis- 
tinctions, cannot possibly be a knot of philosophers and patriots. 

To icturn from this digression. Though it is probable that 
few of Goldsmitli's readers will be convinced, even fiom the in- 
stances he has himself produced, that the happiness of mankind 
is every where equal; yet all will feel the force of the truly 
philosophical sentiment which concludes the piece, — that man's 
chief bliss is ever seated in his mind ; and that a small part of 
real felicity consists in what human governments can either be- 
stow or withhold. 

The Deserted Village, first printed in 1769, is the companion- 
piece of the Traveller, formed, like it, upon a plan which unites 
description with sentiment, and employs both in inculcating a 
political moral. It is a view of the prosperous and ruined state 
of a country village, with reflections on the causes of both. 
Such it may be defined in prose ; but the disposition, manage- 
ment and colouring of the piece, are all calculated for poetical 
effect. It begins with a delightful picture of Auburn when in- 
iiabited by a happy people. The view of ilie village itself, and 
the rural occupations and pastimes of its simple natives, is in 
the best style of painting by a selecion of characteristic circum- 
stances. It is immediately contrasted by a similar bold sketch 
of its ruined and desolated condition. Then succeeds an ima- 
ginary state of England, in a kind of golden age of equality; 
with its contrast likewise. The apostrophe that follows, the 
personal complaint of the poet, and the portrait of a sao-e in re- 
tirement, are sweetly sentimental touches, that break the con- 
tinuity of description. 

He returns to Auburn, and having premised another masterly- 
sketch of its two states, in which the images are chiefly drawn 
from sounds, he proceeds to what may be called the interior his- 
tory of the village. In his first figure he has tried his streuo^h 
v.ith Dryden. The parish-priest of that great poet, improved 
irom Chaucer, is a portrait full of beauty, but drawn in a loose 
linequal manner, with the flowing vein of digressive thought and 
imagery that stamps his style. The subject of the draught, too, 
is considerably different from that of Goldsmith, having more of 
the ascetic and mortified cast, in conformity to the saintly model 
of the Roman Catholic priesthood. The pastor of Auburn is 
more human, but is not on that account a less venerable and in- 
teresting figure; though I know not whether all will be pleased 



SIO GOLDSMITH. 

with his familiarity with vicious characters, which goes beyond 
the purpose of mere reformation. The description of him in his 
professional character is truly admirable; and the similes of the 
bird instructing his young to fly, and the tall cliff" rising above 
the storm, have been universally applauded. The first, I believe, 
is original ; — the second is not so, though it has probably never 
been so well drawn and applied. The subsequent sketches of 
the village school -master and the alehouse are close imitations of 
nature in low life, like the pictures of Teniers and Hogarth. 
Yet even these humorous scenes slide imperceptibly into senti- 
ment and pathos ; and the comparison of the simple pleasures of 
the poor, with the splendid festivities of the opulent, rises to the 
highest style of moral poetry. Who has not felt the force of that 
reflection. 

The heai-t rlistnisting asks, if this be joy ? 

The writer then falls into a strain ot reasoning against luxury 
and superfluous wealth, in which the sober inquirer will find 
much serious truth, though mixed with poetical exaggeration. 
The description of the contrasted scenes of magnificence and 
misery in a great metropolis, closed by the pathetic figure of the 
forlorn ruined female, is not to be surpassed. 

Were not the subjects of Goldsmith's description so skilfully 
varied, the uniformity of manner, consisting in an enumeration 
of single, circumstances, generally depicted in single lines, might 
tire ; but where is the reader who can avoid being hurried along 
by the swift current of imagery, when to such a passage as the 
last, succeeds a landscape fraught with all the sublime terrors of 
the torrid zone ; — and then, an exquisitely tender history-piece 
of the departure of the villagers ; concluded with agroupe (slight- 
ly touched, indeed) of allegorical personages ? A noble address 
to the genius of poetry, in which is compressed the moral of the 
wh( le, gives a dignified finishinjj; to the work. 

If we compare these two principal poems of Goldsmith, we 
may say, that tlie Traveller is formed upon a more regular plan, 
has a higher purpose in view, more abounds in thought, and in 
the expression of moral and philosophical ideas; the Deserted ViU 
lage has more imagery, more variety, more pathos, more of the 
peculiar character of poetry. In the first, the moral and natu- 
ral descriptions are more general and elevated ; in the second? 



GOLDSMITH. 311 

tliey are more particular and interesting. Both are truly origi- 
nal productions; hnt t\\Q Deserted Village lias less peculiarity, 
and indeed has given rise to imitations which may stand in some 
parallel with it; while the Traveller remains an unique. 

With regard to Goldsmith's other poems, a few remarks will 
suffice. The Hermit, printed in the same year with the Travel- 
ler, has been a very popular piece, as might be expected of a ten- 
der tale prettily told. It is called a ballad, but I think with no 
correct application of that term, which properly means a story 
related in language either naturally or affectedly rude and sim- 
ple. It has been a sort of fashion to admire these productions; 
yet in the really ancient ballads, for one stroke of beauty, there 
are pages of insipidity and vulgarity ; and the imitations have 
been pleasing in proportion as they approached more finished 
compositions. In Goldsmith's Hermit, the language is always 
polished, and often oruiiineuted. The best things in it are some 
neat turns of moral and pathetic sentiment, given with a simple 
conciseness that fits them for being retained in the memory. As 
to the story, it has little fancy or contrivance to recommend it. 

We have already seen that Goldsmith possessed humour; and, 
exclusively of his comedies, pieces professedly humourous form 
a part of his poetical remains. His imitations of Swift are hap- 
py, but they are imitations. His tale of the Double Transforma- 
tion may vie with those of Prior. His own natural vein of easy 
humour flows freely in his Haunch of Venison and Retaliation ^ 
the first, an admirable specimen of a very ludicrous story made 
out of a common incident by the help of conversation and cha- 
racter; the other, an original thought, in which his talent at 
drawing portraits, with a mixture of the serious and the comic, 
i« most happily displayed. 



Mai(PI^3jILiiSril®Wg IPI!31(DIig< 



APHORISMS ON MIND AND MANNERS. 



HE who, after a loss, immediately, without staying to lament 
it, sets about repairing it, has that within himself which can con= 
trol fortune. 

The youth who can sneer at exalted virtue, needs not wait for 
age and experience to commence a consummate knave. 

He whose first emotion on the view of an excellent production, 
is to undervalue it, will never have one of his own to show. 

The conscious merit of true ability, never goes further than 
" I too am a painter." 

The hardest trial of the heart is, whether it can bear a rival's 
failure without triumph. 

Him whom descrying at a distance, you turn out of the way 
to avoid, you may call your friend or benefactor, but you do not 
love. 

He, who begins life with " Nil admirari,'^ will end it " Epicwi 
de grege porcus.^^ 

The man who, improving in skill or knowledge, improves in 
modesty, has an undeniable claim to greatness of mind. 

Bravely to contend for a good cause is noble — silently to suffer 
for it, is heroical. 

Would a man of rank estimate his real dignity, let him con- 
ceive himself in a state in which all rank is abolished. 

All professions, it is said, have their mysteries — these are pre- 
cisely the points in which consists their weakness or knavery. 

To choose a good book, look into an inquisitor's prohibited list 
— to choose a good cause, see which interested men dislike. 

There are three sights most detestable ;--a proud priest giving 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 313 

his blessing, — a knavish hypociite saying his prayers, — and a 
lalse patriot making an harangue. 

Who says hypocritical, says all that is despicable in morals : 
— who says affected, says all that is odious in manners. 

Columbus steering steadily westward for a land seen only by 
the eye of his reason, was one of the greatest of human cha- 
racters: — a projector obstinately running himself in pursuit of a 
visionary scheme, may be one of the foolishest, but certainly not 
of the lowest. 

Thoroughly to try a man's patience, he must have the labour 
of years consumed before his eyes in a moment: — thoroughly to 
prove it, he must instantly begin to renew his labour. 

The woman of sensibility, who preserves serenity and good 
temper, amid the insults of a faithless and brutal husband, wants 
nothing of an angel but immortality. 

The woman who rises above sickness and poverty combined, 
may look dov/n upon the noisy heroism of kings and generals. 

Better to be moved by false glory, than not moved at all. 

Nothing is such an obstacle to the production of excellence, as 
the power of producing what is pretty good with ease and ra- 
pidity. 

As reasonably expect oaks from a mushroom bed, as great and 
durable products from small and hasty efforts. 

Every work of great genius, and every work of great care and 
industry, will have its value ; but mediocrity, with negligence, 
gives products of no value at all. 



WHAT MAN IS MADE FOR. 



SOON after the marriage of the dauphin and dauphiness of 
France, (the late unfortunate Louis XVI. and Antoinette,) when 
all the conversation ran upon the splendid fire- works exhibited 
at their nuptials, a friend of mine happening to be at Paris, was 
much amused with a circumstance to which he was witness, in a 
room full of company. A boy, about seven years old, possessed 
of rather more than an ordinary degree of that forward vivacity 
which is so characteristic of the youthful part of the French na- 
Kr 



314 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

tion, was haranguing, in the midst of the circle, with great volu- 
bility and emphasis, on the subject of (ire works, and giving a 
description of what he conceived woul.l make a perfect specta- 
cle of that kind. But while he was painting with all his eloquence, 
the immense volumes of flame, and prodigious explosions, that 
filled his imagination, a by-stander ventured to observe, that all 
the people employed about them would be in danger of being 
blown to pieces. " ^h, (says the boy, with a nonchalance worthy 
of the privileged orders) — Ah, ils sont fails four cela,^' — " Tt is 
what they are made for." 

This expression has often come into my mind, on reflecting 
upon the destiny of the great bulk of mankind, in all past, and 
in the present periods ; I have wished, if possible, to satisfy my- 
self, what, in reality, the human race was made for ? and I con- 
fess, willing as I am to entertain better hopes, I cannot discover, 
from any principles of philosophising, so sure a ground for rea- 
soning concerning the future condition of mankind, as the uni- 
form experience of some thousands of past years. If I breed up 
a horse for the course, or a dog for the chase, or a game cock for 
the pit, it is because a long course of experiments has convinced 
me that such is the nature of those animals, and that I am pretty 
sure of finding in the progeny those qualities and dispositions 
which I remarked in the parents. May not then a king of Prus- 
sia, with equal reason, train a number of two legged unfeathered 
creatures, called men, to pillage, enslave, and murder other men> 
at the word of command, in the confidence, that as the experi- 
ment succeeded with !;esostris, Cyrus, Alexander, Csesar, Gen- 
giskan, Tamerlane, Charles, Louis, and a great many more men- 
masters, it will so succeed with him ; — in other word??, as the 
French boy said, that " ils sont fails pour cela .^" 

Further — Man is a creature of strong appetites and passions. 
These are evolved in him earlier than the principles of reason 
and understanding, and, in much the greater part of the species, 
they continue to take the lead during life. Sensual pleasures 
have attractions for all men ; and it is only that class who, by 
means of the bodily labour of the majority, are able to live in 
comparative ease and leisure, that can acquire a relish for intel- 
lectual enjoyments. Now, the more numerous mankind become, 
the more sedulous must be their exertions to procure the neces- 
saries of life, which must ever be the first concern. The more 
refinement and luxury prevail among the higher classes, the 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 315 

greater proportion of the lower must devote the whole of their time 
to labour, in a variety of new modes. Even the improvements in 
arts and sciences require the additional manual toil of inferior 
artists ; and the ingenuity of one head sets at work a thousand 
pair of hands. Wliat is implied by the sublime discoveries of a 
Herschel ?• — the existence of the collier, miner, forgeman, smith, 
brazier, glassmaker and grinder, carpenter, &c. &c. all of whom 
must be hard-working men, living in garrets or cellars, drinking 
porter and drams, when they can get them, and placing their 
summum boniim in a hot supper and a warm bed. That is what 
they are made for. And when thegovernmentunder which they live 
and of which they must always be subjects, not members, chooses 
to quarrel with a neighbouring state, about the right of fishing or 
trading on the other side of the globe, or some equally worthy 
matter of debate, these very men must be compelled or debauch- 
ed to clap an uniform on tlieir backs, and a musket on their 
shoulders, and learn to kill and be killed, at the word of com- 
mand — for this, too, is what they are made for. 

An acquaintance of mine, who is fond of the Linnsean mode of 
characterising objects of natural history, has amused himself with 
drawing up the following definition of man : — 

Simla Homo: sine caude : pedibus posticis ambulans : grega- 
rium, omnivorum, inquietum, mendax, furax, rapax, salax, pugnax, 
artium variarum capax, animalium reliquorum hostis, sui ipsius 
inimicus acerrimus. 



ON THE TOUCH FOR THE KING'S EVIL, 



I CONFESS myself to be one of those, whom a pretty long 
experience of mankind has not tended to render highly enamour- 
ed of the species, or very confident of its progress towards me- 
lioration. I think I see the same radical defects of character 
prevailing in all periods, and through all external circumstances 
and though diversely modified, yet ever operating to produce the 
principal part of the evils under which the human race conti- 
nually labours. In particular, the disposition to deceive and be 



516 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

deceived, appears to me always in full operation in all societie.=^ 
whether savage or civilized ; and, since much of the weakness 
and unhappiness, if not of the vice, of men, proceeds from this 
source, I conceive that to detect and counteract it, will ever be 
one of the best services that a thinking mind can render its fel- 
Iqw creatures. An instance having occurred to me in my read- 
ing, which I think remarkably well calculated to display the 
joint action of fraud and credulity, with respect to a very com- 
mon object of superstition, — that of the miraculous cure of dis- 
ease, — I propose to lay it before the public, together with the 
remarks which it has suggested to me. 

Those who have endeavoured to support the reality of the effi- 
cacy of the royal touch, in the cure of the scrophula, or king's 
evil, have laid particular stress on the testimony of Wiseman. 
This person was serjeant surgeon to Charles II.; of high reputa- 
tion in his profession, and the author of a work in surgery, long 
reckoned a standard performance, and which shows him to have 
been a fair and modest man, as well as an excellent practitioner. 
It contains an express treatise on the king's evil, in which he 
speaks of the touch, in the following strong terms : " I, myself, 
have been a frequent eye witness of many hundreds of cures 
performed by his majesty's touch alone, without any assistance 
of chirurgery ; and those, many of them, such as had tired out 
the endeavours of able chirurgeons before they came thither. It 
were endless to recite what I myself have seen, and what I have 
received acknowledgments of, by letter, not only from the several 
parts of this nation, but also from Ireland, Scotland, Jersey, and 
Germany.'^ Is it possible for a testimony to be more direct and 
positive or to proceed from a more competent witness ^ Yet, 
probably, there is scarcely at present a man in England who is 
not convinced that the whole pretension was a falsehood (for 
that imposture is now worn out.) How then are we to account 
for Wiseman's conduct ? Was he himself deceived, or did he 
knowingly lend his aid to carry on a cheat ? Both suppositions 
have their difficulties, yet both are in some degree probable. 
His warm attachment to the royal family, and early prejudices, 
might inspire him with a faith beyond the control of his judg- 
ment. On the other hand, certain passages in this treatise show 
a necessary consciousness of collusion, and are, indeed, the true 
confutation of that above quoted, which otherwise might stagger 
one who judged from direct evidence alone. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Sir 

It was Ills office, as serjeant surgeon, to select such afflicted 
objects, as were proper to be presented for the royal touch. In 
the history of the disease, when describing its various states and 
appearances, he says, " Those which we present to his majesty, 
are chiefly such as have this sort of tumor about the musculus 
niastoideus, or neck, with whatever circumstances tliey are ac- 
companied ; nor are we difficult in admitting the thick chapped 
upper lips, and eyes afflicted with a lippitudo : in other cases we 
give our judgment more loarily."" Here is a selection of the 
slightest cases, which most readily undergo a spontaneous alte- 
ration, and a manifest doubt expressed concerning the success iu 
more inveterate ones. A little below, observing that the strumse 
will often suppurate, or be resolved unexpectedly from acci- 
dental ferments, he says, " In case of the king's touch, the reso- 
lution doth often happen, where our endeavours have signified 
nothing; yea, the very gummata, insomuch that I am cautious of 
predicting concerning them (though they appear never so bad) 
till fourteen days be over." From this passage we may infer, that 
the touch was by no means infallible, and that the pretence of its 
succeeding was not given up, till a fortnight had elapsed without 
any change for the better. 

Indeed, it appears very evident, that the worst kind of cases 
were seldom or never offered to the touch ; for in no disease does 
Wiseman adduce more examples from his own practice of diffi- 
cult and tedious chirurgical treatment, nor do we find, that in one 
of these he called in the aid of the royal hand. It was proposed in 
a single instance; but under circumstances that furnish a stronger 
pj-oof of imposture, than any thing yet mentioned. A young gen- 
tlewoman had an obstinate scrophulous tumor in the right side 
of the neck, under the jaw ; Wiseman applied a large caustic to 
it, brought it to suppuration, treated it with escharotics, and cur- 
ed it. " About a year after," says he, " I saw her again in town, 
and felt a small gland of the bigness of a lupin, lying lower on 
that side of the neck. I would have persuaded her to admit of 
a resolvent emplaster, and to be touched; but she did not, as she 
said believe it to be the king's evil." Here, after allowing his 
patient to undergo a course of very severe surgery, he is willing 
to trust the relics of the disease to the royal touch assisted bj a 
resolving plaster ; but the complaint was now too trifling to en- 
gage her attention. Surely, the greatest opponent of the touch 
could not place it in a more contemptible light. 



3ia MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Thus do the boldest assertions of wonderful and supernatural 
occurrences, shrink into nothing before a patient and critical ex- 
amination; and thus inconsistent with itself is an extravagant 
pretension ever found to be. It was enough to refute the impu- 
dent claims of the alchemists, that these pretended gold makers 
were beggars in rags ; as it is a very convincing proof, that the 
royal touch cannot cure the king's evil, when it becomes the evil 
of kings. 

in order fully to prove the reality of an extraordinary cure, 
three points of evidence are necessary : — that the disease exist- 
ed, that it was cured, and that the alleged means were what alone 
performed the cure. But how seldom have these concurred in 
an authentic form, to establish a wonderful tale of this kind! 
Yet men are still the dupes of their own credulity ; and who can 
forsee an end to this delusion ? 



LITERARY PROPHECIES FOR 1797, 



1 DISCERN in embryo three new tragedies, five comedies, 
and six musical entertainments for the London Theatres. The 
tragedies will be splendid,, stately, and abundantly loyal — they 
will be praised in the papers till nobody goes to see them. The 
comedies will be partly sentiment, partly farce ; and two of thejn, 
at least, by the efforts of the actors for whom they are written, 
will be preserved from oblivion till the year 1798. The musical 
pieces will certainly expire with the almanacs. 

A new imposition will be practised on the black-letter gentle- 
men with some success ; but the hero, this year, will not be 
Shakspeare, nor will a six shilling book be written, after its de- 
tection, to prove that it ought to have been believed. 

The controversy about the talents of women, will give birth to 
two bulky volumes, from a female pen ; which will, at least, prove 
that lightness and vivacity are not, as has been supposed, charac- 
teristic of the writers of that sex. 

The Oxford University press will this year be chiefly employ- 
ed in printing catechisms for the use of French emigrants and 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 319 

their converts ; yet some progress will be made in re-editing a 
German edition of a forgotten classic. — N. E. Dr. Bradley's as- 
tronomical papers will not appear this year. 

The alliance of church and state, and the consanguinity of a// 
religions, will be ably supported by an eminent divine, in full 
prospect of a seat on the episcopal bench. 

The political world will be thrown into a strange ferment to- 
wards the end of autumn, by an extraordinary publication of an 
extraordinary character, containing a renunciation of all former 
principles. I am sorry that the delicate nature of the subject 
obliges me, in this instance, to adopt somewhat of the ambiguous 
language of other prophets. 

The elegant press of Bulmer will, this year, send forth a Col- 
lection of the Puerile Poetry of England ; wherein the popular 
compositions of " Hey my kitten, my kitten ;" "Jack and Gill 
went up the hill ;'' " There were three crows they sat on a stone;'' 
and a variety of the like kind, will be carefully edited and illus- 
trated with historical and critical notes, by a learned member of 
the Society of Antiquaries. Vignettes, head and tail pieces, and 
designs, by a lady of quality, as usual. 

Two Pindaric Odes, by a hackney coachman; a Collection of 
Sentimental Sonnets, by a washer-woman ; and an Epic Poem, 
in twenty books, by a printer's devil, composed in types, instead 
of being committed to paper, will agreeably entertain the lovers 
of poetry. 

An infallible method of cure for the yellow fever, which wants 
only a trial beyond the Atlantic to demonstrate its efficacy, will 
be communicated to the public by a young graduate from Scot- 
.^ahd. 

A new project of nutrition, by inhaling the gases of bakers', 
cheesemongers* and cooks' shops, will administer food to the 
pneumatic speculators. 

I see this moment on the road from Edinburgh, two bulkly MSS. 
one, an absolutely new Theory of the Human Understanding; 
the other, a Complete History of the Proceedings of one of the 
Provincial Synods ever since the Reformation : but whether any 
bookseller will be found to undertake their publication, my art 
does not positively inform me. 

A novel, by a lady, will make some noise ; in which tlie hero- 
, ine begins by committing a rape, and ends with killing her mar; 
in a duel. 



>20 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

A proposal for a Reform in Law-proceedings, published under 
the name of an eminent barrister, will greatly astonish the gen- 
tlemen of the long robe, and occasion much debate as to its au- 
thenticity, till a statute of lunacy taken out against the author 
will clear up the matter. 



REMARKS ON THE CHARGE OF JACOBINISM. 



IT has at all times been so common an artifice of party to 
stigmatise its adversaries by some opprobrious name, that par- 
ticular examples of the fact may be deemed unworthy of notice. 
Yet, where individuals actually suffer from the impudent licen- 
tiousness with which this is done, and obnoxious ideas are asso- 
ciated in the public mind which have not the least real connec- 
tion, some appeal to truth and reason, on the part of the injured, 
is natural, if not necessary. I conceive this at present to be the 
case with respect to the charge of Jacobinism, so industriously 
brought forward on all occasions, by a certain set of writers, 
against all who disapprove of the measures of ministers, however 
differing from each other in political principles, and however free 
the greater part may be from any designs which can justify such 
an imputation. 

Every one acquainted with the history of the French Revolu- 
tion must know, that a club called the Jacobins, from the place 
of their meeting in Paris, connected with a number of others 
throughout the kingdom, openly attempted to overcome the legal 
representatives of the nation, to overturn a constitution estab- 
lished by general consent, and to involve everything in anarchy 
and confusion, that no obstacle might exist to their schemes. 
The essence of Jacobinism, according to its true signification, 
then, is — 

To hold that a majority may lawfully be governed by a minor- 
ity, upon the pretext of the public good : 

To pay no regard to the will of the nation, as declared by those 
who have been fairly delegated for the purpose: 

To scruple no means, however base or violent^ to compass a 
political end : 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 321 

To consider absolute anarchy, and the destruction of all na- 
tural and civil rights, as a cheap purchase for speculative im- 
provements in a constitution. 

I am sure I have no objection that every man in this kingdom, 
who avows, either in word or action, these principles, should by 
name be exposed as a Jacobin to the hatred and suspicion of his 
fellow -citizens. 

But it is not Jacobinism to maintain- 
That government was instituted for the good of the many, not 
the emolument of the few : 

That there at all times exists, in the majority of a political so- 
ciety, a right of making such alterations in their form of govern- 
ment, as upon mature deliberation they shall think conducive to 
the public welfare : 

That privileged bodies derive all title to their privileges from 
the consent and advantage of the whole : 

That, therefore, wars and public burdens for the particular in- 
terest of those bodies are a public injustice : 

That a friend of mankind may wish well to the cause of liberty 
all over the globe, without waiting for the permission of his own 
partial or prejudiced countrymen. 

Finally, Republicanism, the spirit of which is, in fact, the very 
essence of every thing free in political constitutions, is not Ja- 
cobinism, but the very reverse. 



ON THE PROBABILITY OF A 

FUTURE MELIORATION in the STATE OF MANKIND. 



THAT man, who, during the course of a few late years, has 
not made very serious reflections on the condition and prospects 
of his fellow-creatures ; who has not been agitated with alter- 
nate hopes and fears, and felt his wishes and expectations in a 
state of perpetual tumult and fluctuation, must either have been 
absorbed in stupid and selfish indifference, or must have arrived 
at that state of security concerning all human affairs which is the 
Ss 



322 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

highest point of philosophy. For my own part, I have been lai 
from either of tiiose conditions. I have most ardently sympa- 
tiiised in the surrounding scenes ; but from the present \\ew ot 
things, I could wish that the tranquillity arising not from indif- 
ference, but from philosophy, should succeed to the painful sus- 
pense and uneasy apprehensions of a mind too strongly impres- 
sed by actual events. This, too, may probably be the state of 
many others. Let us then see, if, by meditating on the past and 
present state of mankind, we can discover any principles which 
may reconcile us to what we behold, and secure us for the future 
against the folly and the pain of expectations never likely to be 
gratified. 

The human race has now subsisted some thousand years, and 
under all the differences of climate and external circumstances 
that can be supposed incident to it. "With respect to what we 
call civilisation, likewise, it seems to have undergone all the vi- 
cissitudes of which it is capable ; for this has in a great many 
instances been carried to a degree, which seems to have been the 
direct cause of its own decline. States more commercial, more 
military, more polished, more luxurious, than have already ex- 
isted, are not likely again to appear on the theatre of the world. 
What then remains on which to found expectations of a new state 
of things, unless it be knoivledge ? This, in fact, is the present 
anchor of our hopes for a meliorated condition of mankind; it 
is, therefore, a matter of high importance to consider what that 
improvement in know ledge must be which is to eftect this desir- 
able change, and what are the probabilities of its taking place. 

Knowledge may, in a loose way, be divided into that which is 
a source of happiness in itself, and that which is a means of pro- 
ducing happiness. With respect to the former, inasmuch as it 
contributes to the enjoyment of individuals by affording interest- 
ing and agreeable occupations for their leisure, and by dignify- 
ing and exalting their natures, it cannot, I fear, be made a ground 
of much advantage to the great mass of mankind. For too few 
in society can ever possess leisure and opportunity sufficient for 
the pursuit, or if they have these, will prefer the pleasures ot 
knowledge to the more obvious ones flowing from the attections 
and the senses, to render advances in literature and science the 
source of much substantial benefit to the world. It may be added, 
that as it is pursuit and progress, rather than real attainment of 
any precise objects, which gives the pleasure in this case, an 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 323 

advanced state of knowledge is not more favourable than an carhj 
and immature one, to the happiness of its votaries. Whatever 
may be the modern improvements in physics and metaphysics, 
the ardour, and consequently the delight, with wliich they are 
pursued, cannot now be much greater than that felt by tjje phi- 
losophers of antiquity. 

The other species of knowledge is to be regarded as a means 
to an end ; and, from the nature of mankind, formed capable of 
transmitting the experience and discoveries of one generation to 
another, and thus making unlimited progress in the adaptation of 
the fittest means to the best ends, we may very reasonably ex- 
pect an addition to the stock of general good from this source. 
But, in order to form some estimate of its amount, it will be first 
necessary to consider of what ingredients human happiness is 
composed, and how far it lies within the power of man to add to 
or diminish the general sum. 

There is, indeed, an opinion that many seem fond of maintain- 
ing, which, if true, would renderunnecessary every consideration 
of this sort, and induce us to sit down in perfect apathy : this is, 
that good and evil are so equally balanced in all the different 
states and conditions of mankind, that what is gained on one 
side, is lost on the other, and vice vtisd ; so that it can never be 
worth while to attempt a melioration, by which nothing can be 
really acquired in point of happiness. And if happiness be the 
true end and object of our being, it is certain that a change, 
which does not conduce to its augmentation, is but an idle waste 
of our industry. But, surely, a fair and impartial survey of the 
world can never lead to such a conclusion. Place happiness as 
low as we please — let it consist in mere animal enjoyments, and 
that security of life and its comforts, and that freedom of action, 
which even a savage must prize — and we cannot be insensible 
of the superior advantages which some states of society offer in 
these respects over others. It is impossible for any one seriously 
to suppose, that the American or English farmer, surrounded 
with plenty, which no one can hinder him from enjoying, and 
resting in full peace and tranquillity under the protection of 
strong and equal laws, is not a happier being than the cultivator 
of the Turkish dominions, who is forced to hide the little wealth 
he possesses, lest it should be forcibly taken from him ; and fears 
a brutal and insolent foe in the person of eveiy one stronger or 
better armed than himself. The difference here is nothing less 



324 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

than fanciful — it bears upon the solid comfort of every day, and 
comes home to the feelings of every human creature. 

The happiness of man, as far as it applies to the whole species, 
will probably never admit of a high or complex estimate. Sen- 
sual gratifications, and the ordinary pleasures of social and do- 
mestic life, may be reckoned to compose almost the whole of it. 
As already observed, the wants of mankind are too many to allow 
to the majority leisure enough for intellectual pursuits ; nor are 
the enjoyments arising from that source, so strong and constant 
in their attraction, as those from the two former. I have, there- 
fore, no idea of a higher degree of happiness, attainable by a 
community, than that proceeding from abundance of the neces- 
saries and most obvious conveniences of life, fairly shared, and 
temperately used ; from peace, security, freedom of action, and 
mutual kindness and good offices. To these may be added, im- 
munity from those superstitious terrors, and self tormenting 
practices, which have attended so many forms of false religion. 
Now let us inquire how far the increase of knowledge accruing 
from experience, is likely to further these desirable objects among 
the great family of mankind. 

Not much need be said concerning the improvements in the 
common arts of life in this view. Being almost all of them the 
offspring of necessity, they can scarcely do more than keep pace 
with the demands of that necessity. Such is the natural increase 
of the human species when not checked by unfavourable circum- 
stances, that there will be perpetual occasion for the full em- 
ployment of the human abilities to prevent the share of good 
things already possessed by each individual from being dimin- 
ished. The utmost improvement of agriculture can only give 
wholesome and palatable food to greater numbers than are now 
fed from the same extent of land : the like may be said of all 
other branches of economics and manufactures, at least in every 
country where already enough has been discovered to make life 
comfortable. Most countries in Europe might probably main- 
tain a much larger population than they possess ; but what has 
the sum of population to do with the happiness of the individuals 
which compose it ? This has long ago, in China and Japan, 
reached its maximum, and in its consequences has pushed the 
more essential arts of life to a degree of perfection much beyond 
what we see among ourselves ; but it seems to have been very 
far from meliorating the condition of the species. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 325 

A much more promising consequence of increased knowledge, 
is the imprtfvement to be expected from it in government, legis- 
lation, and all the contrivances by which a community are se- 
cured in the enjoyment of those advantages which nature and 
industry bestow. Mere seems, indeed, to be a wide and almost 
boundless field for melioration ; for old as the world is, how 
very few examples has it yet seen of civil institutions, purely 
and fairly framed with a view to the production of the greatest 
possible good ! How difficult it would be to name a single one 
in which partial interests have not, in many important points, 
taken the lead of general interests ! But, in order to know what 
improvements may be expected in this matter, it will be neces- 
sary to consider what errors have been owing to ignorance, and 
ill intention. The former may perhaps admit a cure ; the latter 
hardly can, unless the majority become so enlightened concern- 
ing their interests, and so wise, steady, and unanimous in the 
pursuit of tliem, as to overcome all that resistance which the pos- 
sessors of undue advantages will always make to a change un- 
favourable to themselves. 

, That ignorance on the part of rulers, in the true principles of 
'legislation, police, and the other branches of government, has 
been, and is, the cause of much evil to nations, cannot be doubt- 
ed. And as it must be, upon the whole, the interest of rulers to 
see their subjects flourishing and happy enough to be kept in good 
humour, there seems no reason to doubt, that in proportion as 
prejudices and false conceptions give way to the gradual pro- 
gress of truth, many improvements will be made in these partic- 
ulars which will materially better the state of mankind. 1 make 
no question but much has been done during the course of the 
present century, to amend the distribution of private justice, to 
check the oppression of the great, and to secure life and property 
to all the members of a state, in almost every country in Europe. 
Industry has been more encouraged, trade freed from many im- 
politic shackles, punishments rendered less cruel, and, in general, 
a more just and liberal spirit of internal government has been in- 
troduced. The rule of a Frederick and a Catherine, despotic as 
the principles of both have been, cannot be denied to be much 
more lenient, and better calculated to promote the public wel- 
fare, than that of their predecessors. 

All this is very well as far as it goes. But since arbitrary 
rulers must ever have an interest nearer and dearer to them than 



326 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

the happiness of their subjects, viz. that of their power, they will 
never willingly acquiesce in promoting the public improvement 
with respect to those points on which this power is founded. And 
as great part of the worst abuses in corrupt governments are in- 
timately connected with the maintenance of the sovereign au- 
thority, it is vain to expect that they will ever be reformed till 
the people themselves come to understand and pursue their own 
interests. But here is the great difficulty. How is it possible 
that the mass of a nation should ever, in the hands of their old 
masters, become enlightened enough to comprehend their evils, 
and the remedies of them — should be able peaceably to deliber- 
ate about them, and take proper steps for their relief — should 
avoid the snares of crafty demagogues, and pursue steadily the 
light objects by the wisest means — and, finally, amidst the unjust 
opposition they would be sure to meet with, should preserve their 
minds from that irritation which will in the end break out in acts 
of the most dreadful violence ? Alas ! have we not too well 
learned what a nation will do that rises to revenge those injuries 
which either wisdom cannot, or selfishness will not, redress in a 
proper time and manner ? But they should first have been en- 
lightened, say the friends of knowledge and liberty. How ? when 
their meetings for instruction are prevented by the bayonet ; 
when the press is shackled by penal restrictions ; and when hired 
teachers will tell the people that they have nothing to do with 
the laws but to obey them ? The melioration of mankind by 
means of political revolutions, is, indeed, a noble subject of spec- 
ulation ; and I am far from asserting, that the hopes of patriots 
on this head are futile and visionary ; but, for my own part, I 
have only the ivish left — the confidence is gone. 

But are there not modes in which increased knowledge may 
more quietly and gradually meliorate the condition of mankind? 
May we not expect much from improved systems of morality ? — 
for, morals being in fact nothing else than such a rule of life as 
will promote the greatest degree of happiness ; and the art of 
living happily being as much an experimental art as any other, 
will it not be making a continual progress in human societies, 
who can have no interest so dear to them as carrying it to per- 
fection ? This, undoubtedly, seems a plausible deduction ; but, 
I fear, an impartial survey of history will not permit us to be 
very sanguine in our expectations. Has it, in reality, appeared 
that either individuals or bodies of men, in proportion as they 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 527 

have advanced in those branches of knowledge which adorn and 
elevate the species, have been more just, more temperate, more 
beneficent ? 

What are the great moral evils under which mankind labour? 
Are they not, with respect to ourselves, the indulgence of oux' 
appetites and passions, and false estimates of happiness, pro- 
ceeding from vicious associations — with respect to others, the 
preference we give to our own interests above that of the com- 
munity ? — And are not these propensities interwoven in our very 
nature, and only to be controlled by a long course of discipline? 
Is the man of knowledge, to whom so many new sources of en- 
joyment are opened, less likely to grasp with eagerness at the 
means of attaining those enjoyments, than the illiterate and ea- 
sily satisfied peasant ? Can luxury ever be separated from refine- 
ment, avarice from commerce, or rapacity from power ? It is 
granted, that a strong and enlightened system of government 
may check many of the public mischiefs which would flow from 
these sources ; but how, without intolerable restraints upon free- 
dom of action, shall it prevent the private ones? Look at our 
manufacturing towns, and try to separate, even in idea, the vices 
and miseries that overrun them, from the circumstance of a vast 
population composed of artificers, who, if their wages are low, 
must employ their whole time in providing the necessaries of 
life ; if high, v.'ill lie under temptations to excess, which they 
have no principles that can enable them to resist. The almost 
insuperable difficulties experienced in every plan for amending 
the state of the yearly increasing poor in great towns, sufliciently 
evinces the intimate connection between private calamity, and 
what has always appeared to constitute public prosperity. 

The new order of things wiiich seemed opening upon Europe, 
afforded no prospect more flattering to the lovers of mankind, 
than that of a probable extinction of the wars which from the 
earliest records have never ceased to ravage the world. It was 
very plausibly argued, that since nothing was more demonstra* 
ble than the preponderance of evil which a war brought even 
upon the successful party, as soon as nations should become ca- 
pable of pursuing a-; well as discovering their true interests, the 
sword would no longer be resorted to for the decision of their 
differences. But the tirst consequence of the French Revolu- 
tion has been a very extensive and most bloody war, entered into 
with as much eagerness and animosity by the several parlies as 



328 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

any former one ; and, in the mean time, tliree potentates have 
joined unmolested in a scheme of sharing between them -tne of 
the principal portions of Europe, and abolishing a rising liberty 
which had every plea of justice in its favour. Nor does it ap- 
pear, that a temporary peace can be restored without leaving 
abundant seeds of future discord ; or that even the greatest suf- 
ferers by the war, are likely to be cured of the fatal propensity 
to rush again into quarrels on the slightest occasions of ambition 
or contention. War is in so many ways the author of misery, 
and the obstacle of melioration, that unless somewhat decisive 
shall be effected for abolishing it from the ordinary course of 
human affairs, it may be affirmed, that nothing comparatively is 
done towards a better state of things. The propensity to national 
hostility 1ms already withstood all the efforts of a religion appa- 
rently promulgated for the express purpose of restoring peace on 
earth. It did not, even when its influence was strongest, bestow 
the shortest breathing-time on mankind : and its ministers have 
long been, and are at the present day, some of the most active 
promoters of the horrid spirit of mutual enmity. The banner is 
consecrated at the altar before it is dipped in blood ; and prayers 
are solemnly offered up in every church in Christendom for suc- 
cess in every act of public violence that the sovereign of each 
country shall please to engage in. 

The spirit of commerce too, which so much distinguishes the 
present age, instead of binding the nations in a golden chain of 
mutual peace and friendship, seems only to have given adilltional 
motives for war. Each state aims at a monopoly, only to be es- 
tablished by an armed force ; and the improvements of naviga- 
tion have contracted the dimensions of the world so as not to 
allow space enough for the schemes of a merchant's counting- 
house. Further, the present system of trade can only be main- 
tained by the slavery or subjugation of great numbers of man- 
kind ; and while the East and West Indies compose links in the 
chain of European commerce, cruelty and injustice must be the 
means by which it is made to hold together. 

From these considerations, I fear, we have very insuflficient 
grounds to suppose, that the desired melioration of the world 
upon public pi'inciples is as yet commenced. All that a compa- 
rison of this century with the last will allow us with certainty to 
infer, is greater lenity and regularity in the administration of 
government in some countries ; more encouragement to the ex- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 329 

eitioiis of industry ; and a desire in governors to participate in 
the improvements made by art and science, which has the good 
effect of inciting them to encourage the means of advancing use- 
ful knowledge, though often from narrow and selfish motives. If, 
in opposition to these advantages, be set the prodigious increase 
of standing armies .; the vast accumulation of national debts and 
burthens ; and the extinction of a spirit of independence in num- 
bers of the middle and superior ranks of society, while the lowest 
are doomed to ceaseless toil in order to gain a mere subsistence, 
I question if the most sanguine friend of mankind can strike a 
fair balance which will give him much satisfaction. 

But, not to dwell entirely upon the dark side of the prospect, 
I shall state a few circumstances of private improvement, on 
which I think we may safely place some reliance. 

It is impossible to doubt that, in all the more civilised parts 
of the world, superstition and bigotry, those bitter foes of human 
happiness, have lost much of their power ; and that this has been 
owing to that progress of good sense and knowledge which may 
be expected to go on still further diminishing their influence. It 
is true, the connection between old systems of belief and old 
claims of authority, may for a while maintain the struggle of 
falsehood and violence, against truth and equity ; but I would 
fain hope that imposture and persecution have received their 
death wound in Europe, and will never again be able to produce 
the follies and miseries under which men so many ages groaned. 
Religious systems are still, indeed, full of error, and are little, if 
at all, mended in their principles ; but the spirit of the times has 
been too potent for them, and doubt or indifference has effected 
what mere argument could not have done. Emancipation from 
the servile dread of supernatural evils, and from theburthensome 
and degrading practices by which they were to be averted, is a 
gain in point of happiness which cannot be too highly prized. It 
enters deep into the comfort of private life, and makes all the 
difference between a freeman and a slave. And that increased 
lenity in governments and liberality in individuals, which ren- 
ders the profession of a different religious faith from the estab- 
lished one, no longer dangerous or degrading, is a most impor- 
tant advantage to all dissidents. 

The great diff'usion of knowledge, though perhaps of a super- 
ficial kind, among ranks of people who formerly possessed 
scarcely the smallest portion of it, has certainly added much to 
Tt 



338 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

the pleasures and variety of life ; and if it has tended to soften 
and humanise the raanuers, and introduced asreater love for se- 
dentary arauaements, and the pursuits of tuUivated leisure, I 
own 1 am -one of those \\ho think this a good exchange against 
the rough vigour and rude simplicity of former ages. Nor can 
it est ape any observer, that even the arausive writings of the 
present dav are almost invariably friendly to decency, human- 
ity, generositv, and all the finer and nobler feelings of the heart. 
And as a consequence of the propagation of such sentiments, the 
virtues of charity, beneficence, and aflfability, were certainly ne- 
ver more conspicuous. From these considerations, I am not will- 
ing to accept the concession of a very zealous believer in the 
progression of the human race, the late Condorcet, who asserts 
•'that though much has been done for the glory of mankind, 
scarcelv any thing has yet been done for its happiness." It is 
true, that the continuance of destructive wars, and of the im- 
mense inequality of conditions, perpetuates a vast mass of evilg 
in societj ; yet these evils, which at no period did not exist, are 
undoubtedly softened by modern manners ; and private life has 
in various respecfs been made happier to all ranks of people. 

But I own that the very circumstance of some improvement in 
these points, leads roe to despair of those radical and effectual 
meliorations which many expect from vigorous schemes of reform, 
conducted upon principles of general interest and public virtue. 
Our situation has too many advantages to be readily hazarded ; 
and the exertions requisite to maintain those advantages too 
much occupy our miiids to allow of the application of much time 
and attention to matters remotely concerning ourselves. Our 
tempers, too, with the sternness, have lost the force, of the he- 
roic ages ; nor do I conceive that any considerable number of us 
would be capable of going through the rough work of a reforma- 
tion when brought from theory to practice. It the instance of a 
neighbouring nation be brought to refute the notion of a ne- 
cessary connection between advancement in civilisation and ef- 
feminacy of character; it may be urged, on the other hand, that the 
shocking calamities which have attended its revolutionary exer- 
tions will with certainty for a long time render its history more a 
warning than an exjimple to other nations. Melioration, according 
to its warmest advocates, cannot be effected without overthrowing 
all usurpations in government, all impositions in religion, rooting 
up all prejudices, levelling all artificial distinctions, and equal- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 331 

izing mankind so tar as can be done consistently with the funda- 
mental principles of social union. But where are the engine? 
by which these mighty operations are to be brought about? The 
pulpit, the bar, the sword, are already engaged in suppi)rt of ex- 
isting institutions; and the press, on whicli the chief reliance of 
reformers is placed, is at least half bought by the same powerful 
bidders. Not a single axiom on whicli the rights of man are 
founded, has been able to fix itself beyond the reach of assault. 
All is disputed ; and where argument fails, authority is called 
in to give succour ; while wit and eloquence fight indiscrimi- 
nately on either side. 

I shall conclude with one more reflection which forcibly presses 
upon me. All the proofs that have been adduced of the amend- 
ed state of mankind, and all that I have admitted as real or 
probable, relate only to Europe and her immediate connec- 
tions, and not even to the whole of that. But what a small por- 
tion of the human race does this comprehend ! The last ac- 
counts of China state the population of that empire alone at up- 
wards of three hundred millions, of which sum all Europe can 
only show a trifling fraction. Who can with the least proba- 
bility suggest improvement in that ancient, vain and prejudiced 
people, who only know enough of us and our institutions to sus- 
pect and despiac us ? Who |>rt;tends to see less ferocity in the 
African, less pride in the Turk, less rapine in the Arab, less 
perfidy in the Indian, less cruelty in the Persian? Alas! while 
we are overwhelmed at home with business enough to occupy 
reformation for centuries, all these vast regions have not yet 
heard the word sound in their ears, and would probably shud- 
der at the proposal of any innovation as the direst of crimes ! 
The imagination can scarcely conceive that change which should 
render our books, our knowledge, our opinions, familiar to these 
people. Nothing but entire conquest would seem anywise ade- 
quate to this effect ; and what a Pandora's box does that word 
conquest comprise ! Better, surely, that the world should re- 
main in its present mixed and imperfect state, than that an uni- 
formity of good should be aimed at by means which are them- 
selves the greatest of evils ! 



332 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



ON TOLERATION IN RUSSIA. 



THERE has lately been published by a German divine an 
account of the state of religious toleration in Russia, which ap- 
pears to me not only to contain some curious matter of fact, but 
to afford important matter for reflection also. Both these will 
form the topics of the following paper. 

For three centuries past it has been the practice of the Russian 
sovereigns to indulge strangers in the free enjoyment of their re- 
ligious worship ; and under the name of strangers appear to have 
been included those numerous tribes or nations which have been 
adopted into the Russian empire by submission or conquest. 
This policy has probably been derived from the Turks and other 
eastern nations ; and it has, in later reigns, been enforced by the 
necessity of inviting strangers in order to carry into effect the 
great plans of civilisation and improvement, which have been 
transmitted from one sovereign to another. The Account in 
question was drawn up in the time of the late empress Catherine, 
whose managing spirit reduced this, like every other public con- 
cern, into a system. The following are its essential points. 
All religions are tolerated in Russia. Christian of every deno- 
mination, Jew, Mahometan, Pagan, may each worship his God or 
Gods, in the way his father has done before him. Neither is 
there any thing like a religious test for admission to public of- 
fices. The first persons in the civil and military departments 
are Greek, Roman-catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, &c. as it may 
happen. The sovereign's choice is a sufficient qualification ; 
nothing exists to control it. Yet there is a national church, 
strongly marked by its privileges, and perfectly secured against 
that dread of all churches, innovation. In the first place, though 
the different sectaries may change at pleasure from one church 
to another, yet the true native Russian must inviolably adhere 
to the religion in which he is born, the Greek : any change in 
him is apostacy ; and foreign ecclesiastics are forbidden to re- 
ceive a Russian into their communities. Nay, if a foreigner 
once conforms to the established religion, he is fixed in it for 
ever. If a foreigner's children, in defect of a minister of his 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 333 

own persuasion, chance to receive baptism from a Greek priest, 
they must likewise ever remain members of the national church. 
Moreover, in marriages between a Russian and a foreigner, the 
ofFspriog, without a very particular dispensation from the court, 
must be brought up in the Greek faith. The marriage ceremony, 
even of strangers, must always be performed according to the 
Russian ritual ; but this, indeed, imposes no subsequent obliga- 
tion on the parties, or their children. 

Such is the plan philosophical despotism has formed for the 
management of religion in a great empire ; and I doubt not there 
are many who will admire it as an extraordinary effort both of 
liberality and of good policy. It may seem to unite in the hap- 
piest manner the support of a national church with a regard to 
the rights of conscience in those who have been educated in a 
different communion ; and may be thought equally to guard 
against the evils of innovation, and those of a forced uniformity. 
For myself, however, I cannot but consider it as a remarkable 
instance of the impudence of power — of the propensity of mortals 
elevated by station above their fellow-creatures, to assume the 
prerogative of dictating to them in their most important con- 
cerns. The spirit of the preceding regulations is this — " All 
religions are equal — equally true, or equally false. It is useful 
to the sovereign to have a prevailing one under his special in- 
fluence and protection ; yet it is not worth while to quarrel with 
strangers, or deprive the state of their services, for the sake of 
uniformity. Subjects, however, are to be taught, that the choice 
of religion does not belong to them, but to their master. They 
are to follow authority in that, as in any other matter of civil re- 
gulation ; and it would be punishable presumption in them to 
decide for themselves, as if they had any concern in the conclu- 
sion. A person may be of any religion he is commanded to be 
— -he may bring his soul to submit as well as his body ; and no 
duty can be supposed to supersede that of absolute submission to 
the sovereign." This manner of considering the subject is, in 
fact, a greater affront to the human understanding, than the 
power assumed by a Spanish Inquisition. The latter founds all 
its authority upon the supposition that what it maintains is ex- 
clusively the truth, and truth of the highest importance to man- 
kind ; and its effects to make conviction the basis of that uni- 
formity of belief and practice which it compels. It equally, in- 
deed, with the other, denies the right of private judgment ; but it 



334 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

is on the plea that the matter has already been judged by the 
only competent tribunal ; and it will not permit reasons of state 
or local circumstances to sway the decision of points not amen- 
able to civil jurisdiction. The Russian scheme is evidently 
formed upon political considerations ; but it is accommodated 
only to a nation, the great body of which are stupid barbarians. 
It proves that despots, with all the free thinking they may pro- 
fess, are only half philosophers. They would gladly enjoy all 
the benefit which can arise from the mental energies of their 
slaves, without taking off their shackles when acting for 
themselves. But to reduce the mind to such a state of disci- 
pline is beyond their power. It will not be limited in its exer- 
tions. It will not expand itself freely upon topics of compara- 
tively small consequence, and pass over those of the greatest. 
While the native Russians are to be mere hewers of wood, and 
drawers of water, they may perhaps be made to continue to wor- 
ship pictures bought at their god shops, and fast and pray just as 
their priests bid them. But if the noble plan is really pursued 
of reclaiming a great people from barbarism, and placing them on 
a level with the most enlightened nations of Europe, they must 
be allowed at least as much liberty as the strangers who come 
to teach them, and not have their religion chosen for them like a 
footman's livery, or a soldier's regimentals. How mean and bar- 
barous is this policy, as well as every other scheme for restrain- 
ing free inquiry, compared with the simple transatlantic plan of 
leaving religion, like other matters of individual concern, to the 
care of individuals themselves, secure that it can never injure 
the peace of a well regulated state, as long as the state abstains 
from interposing in its differences ! 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
MILITARY PIETY. 



" WAR,* (says an eminent writer) is so bad a thing, that no^ 
thing but a mixture of religion can make it worse." This, how- 
ever, by no means appears to be the general opinion, and the 
union of the military and religious character is one of the most 
popular ideas of the time. Indeed it could scarcely be other- 
wise, when we are engaged in a war, one great object of which 
is the support of religion of every species against atheism and 
impiety ; and when we have the happiness to be connected with 
allies so distinguished for religious zeal. It is peculiarly edify- 
ing to be informed of the exemplary regularity observed by that 
humane and civilised body, the Russian soldiery, in the perform- 
ance of their devotions. This, indeed, is not to be wondered at, 
since the very robbers of that nation are equally punctilious in 
this respect. We are told by a writer of credit, that a famous 
Russian leader of banditti, whose thirst for human blood was 
such, that he was accustomed to tie his captives to a tree, and 
open tlieir breasts while alive, in order that he might drink the 
vital fluid fresh and warm ; on being asked by his confessor, as 
he was led to execution, whether he had duly observed the fasts 
and festivals of the church ? was aifronted with the question, and 
in his turn asked the priest whether he did not take him for a 
christian ? Under the late conscientious empress Catherine, the 
Russian court-manifestoes were remarkable beyond any in Eu- 
rope for solemn appeals to the Deity ; and it is to be presumed 
that her successor has not degenerated in this point. The ac- 
counts that have been published of the devotional spirit of the 
celebrated conqueror of Ismael and Praga, cannot fail of giving 
high delight to those who regard him as the destined restorer of 
monarchy and Catholicism in France. As there is always some- 
thing interesting in the parallels between great men in different 
periods, I shall beg leave to place beside these the sketch given 
by Brantome of an illustrious commander of his time, also a dis 
tinguished chief in a catholic league, the constable of France, 
Anne de Montmorenci. 



• Written during the French revoliuion war, 



336 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

"Every morning (says the historian) whether he was at home 
or in the army, on a march or in camp, he never neglected to re- 
cite and hear his paternosters. But it was a saying among the 
soldiers, * Take care of the paternosters of Monsieur the Con- 
stable ;' for whilst he was muttering them over, he would throw 
in, by way of parenthesis, as the occasions of discipline or war 
demanded, • Hang me that fellow on the next tree — pass me that 
other through the pikes — bring me hither that man and shoot him 
before my face — cut me in pieces all those rascals who are so 
audacious as to defend that steeple against the king — burn me 
that village — set i&re to all the country for a quarter of a league 
round :' and all this he would do without the least interruption 
to his devotions, which he would have thought it a sin to defer to 
another hour, so tender was his conscience .'" 

This I think an admirable picture of a soldier's devotion ; and 
though it is not quite suited to an English camp or quarter-deck, 
it would, I suppose, appear natural enough in a Russian field 
marshal, or a bashaw of three-tails ; whom we are now so happy 
as to be entitled in some measure to call our own. 



INQUIRY INTO THE NATURE OF FAMILY PRIDE. 



MORALISTS and Divines agree in the condemnation oi pride, 
from whatever source it is derived ; but some kinds of it have 
ever been treated with lighter censure than others ; and some, in 
the common estimate, have even been elevated into laudable 
principles of action, and have been supposed to denote an exalt- 
ed soul. The pride of virtue among the ancient philosophers, 
especially of the Stoic sect, though it was apt to inspire an arro- 
gant and unamiable demeanor, certainly in many cases raised 
the mind above every thing mean and vulgar, and proved an in- 
citement to worthy conduct. Similar effects have usually been 
attributed to i\\Q pride of family ; and no common place is more 
frequent in works of fiction, and even in popular morality, than 
the influence of high descent in dignifying the sentiments, and 
prompting to noble deeds. It is obvious, that the reality of such 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 337 

eftects must depend upon the character and foundation of this 
species of pride ; for the mere aifection of pride, consisting in a 
higli estimate of one's-self, is more likely to debase than to en- 
noble, to repress than to rouse, since it supposes the object al- 
ready attained for the sake of which great exertions are made. 
Let us therefore inquire into the actual source of family pride, 
as prevailing among ourselves. It is possible, that its character 
may admit of diiferent shades and variations from local circum- 
stances ; yet I siiould imagine, that it must every where derive 
its essence from the general principles of human nature. 

There are two grounds upon which a sentiment of this kind 
may be made to appear not unreasonable ; one, the supposition 
that superior qualities are actually transmitted in certain fami- 
lies by pro-creation ; the other, that descendants possess a sort 
of inheritance in the public merits of their ancestors. 

With respect to the first, as it is an undoubted fact, that not 
only the bodily but the mental constitution of parents is, in some 
degree, renovated in their children ; it was no improbable opinion 
that those qualities which in a rude state of society had raised 
the possessors above their fellows, should, for a time at least, 
shine conspicuous in their lineal progeny. A race of Heraclidse 
might long be distinguished by a portion of the strength and for- 
titude of their great progenitor. Horace, by the analogy of the 
brute creation, supports his position of 

" Fortes creantur fortidiis et bonis :^' 

"The brave and good produce the good and brave." 

It was unfortunate, that the race of human beings by whom he 
exemplified his doctrine, was the family of the Nero^s ; but he 
was a poet and not a propliet, and could not foresee how soon a 
name which great qualities had raised to honour, might be ren- 
dered eternally infamous by the vices of a degenerate offspring. 
In more modern times it has been asserted, that valour, honour, 
and good sense, have been hereditary in certain families ; and 
epitaphs have told of noble breeds of which " all the males were 
brave, and all the females virtuous." But in a long line, so many 
accidents may happen to interrupt the stream of propagated ex- 
cellencies, that I presume the credit of such pretensions is quite 
at an end. Nor do I suppose, that the inheritors of high blood 
would themselves be forward to put in claims which might excite 
too large expectations in the public. Who would venture to pro- 
Uu 



338 MISCELLxVNEOUS PIECES. 

fess himself an heir to the political wisdom of a Cecil, or the 
military talents of a Churchill ? The truth is, that natural per- 
fections of mind and body are indifferently the lot of all condi 
tions of life ; and the chance is just the same, as far as birth is 
concerned, that a Bacon or a Newton should honour the palace 
or the cottage. Every thing further is the result of education ; 
and whether that of the great be best adapted to carry the human 
species to its highest degree of perfection, may be left to the 
great themselves to determine. Scarcely any man, therefore, 
is probably proud of his descent on the supposition, that he has 
derived from it moral or intellectual endowments superior to 
those of mankind in general. And with respect to the body, they 
who talk, almost as if they understood it literally, of the purity 
of the blood which flows in their veins, must be perpetually re- 
called from the pleasing delusion, by the homeliness, deformi- 
ties, and hereditary diseases, which render so many noble races 
extremely bad specimens of the human form divine. 

The supposed participation in the merits of ancestors is next 
to be considered as a ground of family pride. 

The public gratitude, which, in its displays, has frequently 
comprehended with the person of a public benefactor those of his 
children, and even of his remote descendants, has given a sanc- 
tion to this notion of transmitted merit, and proved it to have a 
foundation in human nature. Yet reason and reflection must 
teach, that every tribute paid by society on this account, has its 
just bounds; that present demerit may cancel all the claims of 
past desert ; and that even length of time may obliterate the 
debt. We can scarcely conceive of services so great, that they 
may not be repaid in honour and emolument, if not to the person 
himself, at least to his immediate representatives ; and it is evi- 
dent, that, were public rewards to be perpetuated to all poster- 
ity, future generations would find the stock anticipated, by 
which they should remunerate benefits of their own growth. lu 
order to establish a just title to the honours associated with a 
noble name, along with the name there should be a transmission 
of a portion of the character and principles which first made it 
the object of respect. If a I'ace of Publicolas think it a duty af- 
fixed to their appellation, to continue from age to age the guar- 
dians of the people's rights, they will continue entitled to their 
attachment and veneration ; but if they dwindle down to the sa- 
tellites of a court, how shall they dare to arrogate respect on 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 339 

account of their relation to ancestors whose principles they have 
renounced, and whose actions, by their own conduct, they disa- 
vow? No consideration, indeed, ought to be more awful, or even 
oppressive to the mind, than that of being the representative of 
men whose remembrance will ever live in the breasts of their 
admiring countrymen : for wliat is its effect, but tliat of provid- 
ing a perpetual fund for humiliating comparisons? This is the 
topic particularly dwelt upon, with a mixture of humour and in- 
dignation, by the manly Juvenal, in his energetic satire upon 
nobility. 

But the claim to public reverence on account of the signal 
merits of ancestors, be it well or ill founded, cannot possibly 
come within the view of a great majority of those who boast of 
family. From the august genealogies of kings and emperors, 
down to the pedigrees of country squires, how few are there 
which can exhibit characters of distinguished virtue or abilities, 
or to whom their country can justly be reckoned indebted ! If 
names now and then occur, which the historian has deigned to 
record among the actors in memorable events, it is to be consi- 
dered, that high stations are necessarily the lot of property and 
influence ; and that transactions of great moment, which are 
conducted by the united exertions of many, are often ascribed to 
an individual, who had no other share in them, than that of being 
the nominal head. Battles are gained, and negotiations brought 
to effect, under the auspices of persons of rank, in whose abili- 
ties perhaps not the least confidence is placed even by those who 
employ them. They merely serve for the decoration ; while all 
the real business is done by men not highly born enough to dis- 
pense with professional knowledge. Thus the brave and skilful 
Chevert obtained a victory and a marshal's staff for the prince 
de Soubise; concerning which it was wittily said in an epigram, 
"Who should have the staff, but he who cannot walk alone?" 
But without entering into a ngorous scrutiny, but making a li- 
beral allowance o( every imputed public service, it may be asked. 
Will our men of family consent to take precedence, according 
to the aggregate of meritorious deeds recorded of the whole race? 
It will not, I believe, come under the charge of scandalum mag- 
natvm to affirm, that the nobility and gentry, neither of this, nor 
of any other country, would acquiesce in such a proposal. In 
fact, a person must be little acquainted with the sentiments that 
really prevail in the world, to suppose that the pride of ancestry 



340 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

has, in general, any connection whatever with merit, either gen 
nine or imputed. Us grounds are, simply, relative superiority of 
condition, together with the length of time in which that supe- 
riority has been enjoyed. It is, therefore, no other than a modi- 
Jication of the pride of ivealth ; and while more absurd in its ap- 
plication than this sentiment, it is not at all more elevated or 
dignified in its nature. 

The English ^lobleman who traces his lineage to one " who 
came in with the Conqueror," is content to refer his origin to a 
soldier of fortune, a subaltern leader of banditti, who, for his as- 
sistance in turning out the lawful possessors, was rewarded with 
a share of their property. He was brave, as were all his Norman 
countrymen. The greedy appetite for spoil would lead him, as 
it would the meanest of his band, to confront any dangers ; but 
he was ignorant, unlettered, unprincipled, and brutal. By the 
number of vassals he brought into the field, was estimated the 
proportion of conquered land that fell to his share ; and this pro- 
portion constituted the sole difference between the greater and 
the inferior families built upon this foundation. Where the spoil 
was half or the whole of a county, it gave rise to an earldom or 
barony, which, descending through various fortunes to the present 
time, has conferred the highest hereditary honours this kingdom 
affords. Now, the original mode in which this property was ac- 
quired, certainly conveys no valuable lesson to a descendant; 
and amidst the train through v/hich it has successively passed, 
may probably be found all that variety of character and conduct 
which the human condition, joined to power and wealth, is likely 
to produce. Some of them were, of course, generals, ministers, 
heads of factions, now on the royal, now on the popular side, as 
it suited their interests ; now rewarded with new honours and 
possessions as supporters of the crown, now attainted and brought 
fo the scaffold as traitors. " Treason, sacrilege, and proscrip- 
tion, (says Gibbon,) are often the best titles of ancient nobility." 
Is it, then, from a moral or intellectual estimate of such men as 
these, that the idea of a noble and illustrious race is derived by 
the judges of family consequence — the adepts in heraldry and 
genealogy ? No;— It is quite sufficient for them to trace Bohuns 
and Mowbrays from century to century, as the possessors of cer- 
tain liereditary honours, and the owners of certain manors ; and 
all individuals are sunk in the abstract notion of a great house. 
The Spaniards, though prouder of nobility than any nation in 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. S4l 

Europe gave to their original great landholders only the appro- 
priate title of JRicos Honibres — rich men. 

The untitled country gentleman cannot be supposed to enter- 
tain more elevated ideas of ancestry than the ennobled patrician. 
The connection of his name with a certain parcel of land at a re- 
mote period, is all that he thinks it incumbent upon him to esta- 
blish in proof of his gentility ; and the measure of his relative 
consequence is the number of acres in this land, combined with 
the length of time during which his family have been the posses- 
sors of it. These two considerations, it is true, somewhat inter- 
fere ; so that it may become a matter of doubt, whether an ancient 
race of small property be not more honourable than a more mo- 
dern one with ampler possessions : and this is one of the modi- 
fications by Avhich the pride of family somewhat differs from the 
simple pride of wealth. But the foundation of both being the 
same, namely, distinction from the mass of people by a superi- 
ority in riches, it does not appear how the mere circumstance of 
the length of time in which this has been enjoyed, can constitute 
any essential difference in effect. In this country, where cer- 
tainly more sobriety and consistency in estimating the advan- 
tages of life prevail than in most others, it is very seldom that 
the proudest gentleman of ancient descent will refuse to ally 
himself to superior wealth and influence, how recent soever be 
their date. What is usually meant when it is said. Such an one 
is a person of good family ? Is any other idea excited, than that 
of opulence and living at ease? Do not we immediately paint 
to ourselves a good landed estate, a rich church preferment, or a 
thriving profession ? And if any moral notions associate them- 
selves with the word good, are they not merely such as naturally 
belong to a condition which rises above the ordinary temptations 
to meanness and dishonesty, and renders it easy to perform acts 
of generosity and liberality ? In this sense, is the gentleman of 
ancient name superior to the wealthy trader of yesterday ? 

Whatever be the forms under which family pride appears, they 
are for the most part only varieties of self-consequence derived 
from property. Thus, wlien a person boasts that his ancestors 
have never sullied themselves with low or mercenary employ- 
ments, what is it but boasting that they have been able to live 
upon their hereditary possessions, without any exertions of per- 
sonal industry ? The rich trader may promise the same here- 
after for himself and his descendants, as long as the wealth he 



:A:i MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

has accumulated shall last. And if the gentleman falls into po 
verty, what becomes of his boast ? He will scorn, perhaps, to 
cringe behind a counter; but he will not scruple to bow at a 
minister's levee. He will think it beneath him to practise for 
gain any useful talents he may possess ; but he will deem it hon- 
ourable to let himself out to hire, for the purpose of butchering 
those who never offended him, on the mere considerations of pay 
and plunder. He will be a venal senator, a prostitute lawyer, or 
an unbelieving priest, without derogating from gentility. But is 
not the man who goes to market with his conscience, as much a 
trader as if he set up a stall at a fair ; with this difference only, 
that he deals in a viler commodity than ever came out of a ma- 
nufacturer's hands ? 

Does the gentleman value himself upon his education and man- 
ners ? These, too, if of a superior kind, have only been rendered 
so by superiority in the means of obtaining improvement, or of 
appearing in society with respect and independence. None are 
at present better educated, than the children of many who have 
become opulent by commerce; as, on the other hand, instances 
are sufficiently common of mean and narrow educations given to 
inferior branches of great families. A common literary educa- 
tion is within the reach of persons much beneath the rank of gen- 
tility; and as its success chiefly depends upon the motives to 
improve it to the best advantage, it is less to be expected from 
the heirs of opulence, than from those who are sensible that their 
livelihood must depend upon their own exertions. With respect 
to the extraordinary advantages of particular tuition, of travel, 
and the like, these are all open to the persons who can pay for 
them, and to no others. The manners which are supposed to de- 
note a familiarity with good company, have two sources; the 
sense of self consequence, and the habits of artificial politeness. 
The first will, doubtless, attend persons of real rank and impor- 
tance ; but it is derived rather from station and fortune, than 
from what is properly called family. It is often surprisingly soon 
caught by men of very low origin, who arrive at posts of dignity, 
or high commercial prosperity ; while it may be totally extinct 
in the needy descendant of ten noble generations. The second 
is an accomplishment which, like all others, must be studied by 
those who wish to excel in it. High birth is, doubtless, an ad- 
vantage towards its acquisition : but the opportunities it affords 
are often neglected. That arbiter elegantiarum, Lord Chester- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 343 

field, has scarcely allowed any of the first men of his time, in 
point of rank and office, to have had the manners and conversa 
tion of gentlemen. (See his Characters.) Indeed, the very circum- 
stance of elevated situation may operate unfavourably upon the 
manners, from the carelessness it is likely to inspire with respect 
to pleasing in society, tlie desire of which is the only true source 
of politeness. The lowest appendages of quality are more likely 
to acquire that deportment which conciliates regard and good 
will, than their lords and patrons. 

If a just interpretation of the nature and origin of family pride 
have been given in the preceding remarks, it will not be easy to 
show, why it should tend to elevate the mind, or stimulate to 
great and lionourable exertions. We may, indeed, image to our- 
selves a parent exhorting his child in the warmest strains of af- 
fectionate eloquence, to prove himself the worthy descendant of 
a long race of heroes or patriots. But the misfortune is, when 
we quit fancy for reality, that these pure races are no where to be 
found; and it is not without great selection, that a noble youth 
can safely draw his examples from his genealogical table. How 
many names, and, perhaps, the most distinguished ones too, will 
occur in every line, which instead of the love of public virtue, 
will inspire a lawless lust of power, or an admiration of unprin- 
cipled daring; instead ot the heart-felt esteem of private worth 
and integrity, will kindle the ambition of dazzling by splendid 
profligacy! The lesson he is of all the most likely to learn is, 
the great importance of riches ; he sees how much they conduced 
to the consequence of his progenitors, and why should he form a 
different estimate of his own ? If, therefore, he inherits wealth, 
he is proud of that wealth. If he inherits only the title and 
memory of past opulence, he is mortified by the contrast between 
his name and his circumstances ; and feels no necessity so ur- 
gent, as that of retrieving the honour, that is the fortune, of his 
family. To one whose prejudices preclude him from many of 
the most useful and honest ways of gaining a fortune, such an 
impression must often be the cause of hurtful and dishonourable 
expedients. And, in fact, none have in all cauntries been so sys- 
tematically hostile to the liberties and rights of their fellow sub- 
jects, as the brood of indigent nobility, who seem to think them- 
selves unjustly treated by the community, as long as their reve- 
nues are inadequate to the expectations of their birth. 

To revert to the question proposed as the object of inquirv,— • 



344 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

I conceive it to be the true nature of family pride, to institute an 
estimate of personal value, essentially founded upon superiority 
of wealth, and recurring to such a superiority for its support. It 
cannot, therefore, be relied upon as a solid principle for the ele- 
vation of the character. It may occasionally prompt to great 
and noble actions, but there is no security against its inspiring 
pernicious and disgraceful ones. It is inferior in worth, not only 
to genuine morality, but to a regard for the common good opinion 
of mankind, which implies a sense of community of sentiment 
and interest; whereas family pride is a secluding and dissoci- 
ating principle. 



APOLOGY FOR 

THE DEMOLITION OF RUINS. 



* I KNOW not where I can better apply than to your liberal 
publication, for the purpose of making my protest against what 
I conceive a very unjust censure passed upon my character. 
Allow me, therefore, without further preface, to state my case to 
your readers. 

Three years ago, on the death of a distant relation, I came un- 
expectedly into possession of an estate situated in one of the 
most pleasing rural situations in this kingdom. Having always 
had a fondness for the country, which, till that time, professional 
engagements would not suffer me to indulge, I determined, 
without hesitation, to fix my future residence in the spot which 
fortune had bestowed upon me. I therefore hastened down, with 
the purpose of making such alterations and improvements as 
fancy or convenience might suggest, in a place which had been 
more indebted to nature than to the attention of its late posses- 
sors. In going the round of my domains, I observed in a sweet 
retired vale, within the flexure of a clear brook, a mass of un- 
sightly ruins, overgrown with weeds, offering to the eye nothing 

• This fancy piece was originally sent as a eommunication to a pei'iodical work. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 345 

better than some half-demolished walls, surrounding heaps of 
shapeless rubbish. The soil about it was rich; and the spot was 
well defended "from cold septentrion blasts" by a rising hillock 
to the north, and a tall plantation to the east. Among my little 
tastes, one of the strongest is a delight in the cultivation of rare 
and beautiful plants ; and as at the instant a plan of fortifica- 
tions was suggested to uncle Toby, his bowling-green presented 
itself to his imagination, so, on the view of this sequestered place, 
I cried to myself, in a kind of rapture, " What a charming situ- 
ation for a botanical garden !'' " And then, (I proceeded) we 
shall find stones enow among this rubbish for an inclosure ; and 
on that largest heap, which overlooks the stream, I will build a 
little summer-house, and convert all the base of it into a piece of 
rock work." To make my story short, so much did this scheme 
run in my head, that I did not rest till it was put in execution; 
and if, Mr. Editor, you are a lover of plants, I may venture to 
say you would be delighted to see the number of beautiful vege- 
tables which I have already established here, and would enjov 
the verdant scenery round the windows of my little cabinet. 

But now comes the unpleasant part of the history. Soon after 
the ruins were demolished, and the edifices erected upon them, a 
Dr. Moulder, a. vary learned man, and a distinguished fellow of 
the Antiquarian Society, who happened to be visiting in the 
neighbourhood, called one morning when I was abroad, and de* 
aired my gardener to show him about my grounds, particularly 
requesting to see the remains of the convent. " Convent ! sir, 
(says the fellow,) we have no such thing that I ever heard of; 
but, perhaps, your worship means the old walls that my master 
pulled down when he made his new garden by the brook." 
" Pulled down !" cried the doctor ; " what do you mean ? — but 
show me to the place." The man took him to the vale, and was 
going to open the garden door, when a flat stone in the wall, on 
which vv^ere some traces of letters, caught the doctor's eye He 
stopped short, lifted up his hands, and broke forth into exclama- 
tions which frightened the poor fellow, and of which he remem- 
bers only the words " barbarous! monstrous ! sacrilege!" He then 
took out of his pocket a memorandum book, and began, with 
much pains, and no little ill-humour, to transcribe the inscrip- 
tion, which unfortunately gave him additional trouble by being 
fixed in the wall the wrong end upwards. He ended by exactly 
measuring the length and breadth of the stone with a pocket rule. 
Xx 



346 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

" Well, (says he, turning to the man,) I see you have done your 
work completely. I suppose you dug up the old building from 
the foundation ?" "We did, sir, (replied he,) and a power of 
trouble we had with it. They say it was a famous place in the 
time of the Papishes. But if your worship wants to see any more 
gravestones, I can show you som£." The doctor acquiescing iti 
this proposal, he was led to the fragments of a few more monu- 
mental stones in different parts of the wall, the rude letters of 
which, where they were at all legible, he faithfully copied, and 
then, without deigning to pay the least attention to my improve- 
ments, he made the man an acknowledgment, and hastily walked 
off-. 

The circumstances of tTiis visit, when related, only diverted 
me, till, a few months afterwards, an acquaintance calling upon 
me, " Do you know," says he, with a serious face, " what an at- 
tack has been made upon you in print?" I was startled; upon 
which he took out a periodical publication, renowned for its gra- 
vity in trifles, and showed me a letter concerning the lately ex- 
isting remains of the Monastery of Cistercians in the parish of 

-, which I presently discovered to have been written by my 

testy visitant. In this letter, the owner of the place was treated 
in the harshest terms, as " a Vandal, a foe to reverend antiquity, 
a violator of the dead, and a person void of all taste and all re- 
gard for literature." — "The precious relics which time and the 
rough hand of reformation had spared, M'ere utterly destroyed by 
my ruder hands ; and, as far as in me lay, I had contributed to 
the overthrow of one of the most pleasing and useful of studies." 

To these charges, Sir, I am loth to plead guilty ; for though I 
have not ranked in that class of men whose sole business in life 
is the employment of literary leisure, yet neither by education 
nor habit am I a total stranger to the Muses ; and I trust I have 
a heart not inaccessible to the pleasures of knowledge nor har- 
dened against the impressions of sentiment. I must, indeed, ac- 
knowledge that I have not learned to value a thing merely be- 
cause it is old and useless : nor do my feelings plead with me in 
favour of relinquishing to the bones of ancient possessors the' 
perpetual occupation of those seats which, when living, they 
wisely selected on account of their beauty or convenience. I 
see not why I should not enjoy my garden as well as the monks 
did theirs in the same spot; and I think it a much less crime to 
disturb the repose of their skeletons, than to banish Flora and 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 347 

Pomona from a favourite residence. The rights of the dead, I 
confess, affect me little in comparison with those of the living; 
and I reckon it high time for the particles of bodies three or four 
centuries defunct, to return quietly to the bosom of the earth, 
and fulfil their destiny. As to the share of posthumous fame 
which may be preserved by the inscription of Gualter de Thorpe 
Prior hiijus Monast. — I can accuse myself of a very small degree 
of injury in bringing it to a conclusion, when so many elaborate 
works under the tile of iMonasticons, Repertories, Topographical 
Remains, County Histories, &c. have taken such laudable pains 
to secure the immortality of these worthies by monuments xre 
perenniora. 

The motives which inspire a reverence for the remains of an- 
tiquity, and plead against their demolition, are various ; but I 
think the rational ones may be reduced to very few. Where 
they possess intrinsic beauty or grandeur, and aiFord specimens 
of the taste and ingenuity of former ages, they certainly deserve 
preservation ; as likewise where they illustrate manners and 
modes of living, concerning which history is silent or obscure. 
Also, when they are associated with any remarkable event, though 
not essential to the transmission of such event, I should be as 
unwilling as any to break an association which may excite in 
sensible hearts feelings of the most interesting kind. But why 
should ruinous piles without elegance or magnificence be left to 
cumber the ground, when they refer only to inconsiderable per- 
sonages and ordinary modes of life, much less valuable in them- 
selves than what has succeeded them, and at least as fully re- 
corded as they deserve to be in the pages of history } Surely the 
stones of our wretched old mansions called castles, and of our 
gloomy monasteries, are not all so sacred, that they may not be 
applied to the better uses that modern taste and good sense would 
find for them ! 



348 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

INQUIRY 

INTO THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTER OF MAN. 



THERE is nothing in which civilised antiquity appears more 
laudable, and indeed more enviable, than in the philosophical li- 
berty it allowed of discussing speculative questions relative to 
some of the most important topics, without affixing either a pub- 
lic or a private stigma on an individual, on account of the con- 
clusions he might deduce from his reasonings. Deriving the 
character of a man from the manner in which he fulfilled his 
duties in society, and taking for granted, that, if he acted well, 
he possessed the motives proper to influence him to that course 
of action, it regarded with great indifference the metaphysical or 
theological system he had chosen to adopt, and never entertained 
an idea of converting tenets of opinion into tests of qualification 
for the offices of a citizen. Our modern dogmatists, though very 
far from agreeing among themselves upon many fundamental 
points of doctrine, have yet associated their several modes of 
thinking so exclusively to the best principles of action, that they 
have refused the very name of goodness to virtues not deduced 
from their theories on the nature and relations of man. We have 
seen even so mere a matter of speculation, as the origin of evil, 
represented as the great hinge of morality ; and a belief of that 
system which refers it to a supposed corruption of human nature, 
made the discrimination between genuine and spurious morals. 
That evil or imperfection exists throughout the whole sentient 
creation, is sufficiently obvious, but it would seem equally so, 
that our business can only be the correction of it; and that the 
means of doing this must be general to all human creatures, as 
far as they make use of reason and experience, whatever notions 
ancient fable or history may have given them concerning its ori- 
gin. On this subject, as on many others, the rage for forming hy- 
potheses seems to have created difficulties and perplexities which 
do not necessarily belong to it. If we content ourselves " with 
reasoning only from what we know,'' and consider the character 
and condition of man merely as facts in natural history, I con- 
ceive that our speculations concerning them need not be either 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 349 

intricate or unsatisfactory ; and that we shall be able to free our 
minds from a mass of error and prejudice tending to bewilder our 
ideas and mislead our conduct. 

Man is the terminating link of the animal creation. It is 
equally evident that he participates the nature of this class of 
beings, and that he is at the summit of the scale. His points of 
conformity with the animals beneath him are striking and nume- 
rous. Like them, he passes through the stages of growth, ma- 
turity, and decline: like them, he perishes as an individual, but 
perpetuates himself as a species : like them, he has his pains and 
pleasures, diseases and remedies, wants and the means of supplying 
them. The first law of nature in both, is that of seeking happiness. 
In both, this happiness is partly personal, partly social. In both, oc- 
casions arise in which the personal and social coincide, and others 
in which they interfere. Now comes the principal moral difference. 
In brute animals, wherever the storge, or parental and conjugal 
affection, does not take place, the individual uniformly (a few 
dubious cases, perhaps, excepted) prefers his own gratification to 
that of another, or of any number of others : in man, the strength 
of sympathy, the pleasures of sentiment, the habits of society, 
and the reciprocal ties and dependencies of various kinds, have 
so involved the interests of numerous individuals, that happiness 
cannot be pursued to any extent but as a matter of alliance and 
conjunction. Hence cases perpetually occur in which a man is 
induced to resign his immediate and single gratifications for the 
sake of that common good in which he is a sharer. This is a 
law of his nature ; and, considering it as such, it is not of the 
smallest consequence whether a theorist finally refers it to a be- 
nevolent or a selfish principle. Further, he is enabled, by that 
idea of the connection of cause and eifect, and that memory of 
past and anticipation of future events, which he possesses, if not 
solely, at least in a degree greatly superior to other animals, to 
resist the impulse of present appetite and passion, when his own 
greater good, or that of persons dear to him, requires it. Here, 
then, is a large provision made in his nature for the attainment 
of all the personal and social virtues. He will be prudent and 
temperate in the use of sensual enjoyments, both that he may not 
exhaust the source, and that the consequences of excess may not 
overbalance the pleasures. He will be kind and benevolent, 
compassionate and charitable, because he is so constituted as to 
sympathise in the happiness and misery of those around him ; 



350 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

because he is a social, and not a solitary being. He will even 
interest himself in the concerns of large communities, and forego 
his ease, and hazard his safety, to promote their advantage ; be- 
cause he is capable of personifying the ideas of country and man- 
kind, and identifying himself with the human race ; because he 
is sensible of the exalted pleasure of being admired and beloved 
when living, and can associate these feelings to his memory after 
tleath. If to this fund for useful and generous action be added 
the capacity of receiving pure and inexhaustible delight from the 
exertion of intellect, what an idea must be formed of the nature 
and condition of man, and how fitted must he seem to occupy the 
elevated rank assigned him in this visible system of things ! 

But it is also an invariable law of nature, that upon every ad- 
vantage should be entailed, as it were, an appropriate inconve- 
nience — upon every good should be quartered its evil. As in the 
tropical climates the same sun that nourishes a luxuriance of the 
richest vegetation, and provides abundance for all the wants of 
man, fills the air and earth with noxious insects, and exhales pes- 
tilence from the stagnant waters ; so the noble powers bestowed 
upon the human race, and the multiplicity of strong motives per- 
petually rousing these powers to action, render its individuals 
more liable to err in the pursuit of their own happiness, and 
more capable of inflicting mischiefs upon each other. The keen 
relish for varied gratification stimulates the intemperance of 
man, and administers food for insatiable cupidity. His love of 
power, of honour, of fame, involves him in endless rivalries a,nd 
interferences. Even those attachments which take him in some 
measure out of self, and engage him in the interests of kindred, 
party, and country, enlarge the sphere of his contention, and pre- 
cipitate him against whole masses of fellow men, with whom, in 
a private capacity, he could not come into contact. Political in- 
stitutions, and forms of government, which in one view are ad- 
mirable contrivances for restraining the hurtful passions of man- 
kind, in another, by the creation of a multiplicity of new rela- 
tions and remote interests, are causes of unthought-of and inter- 
minable quarrels. Without experience, how could it be conceived 
that a hundred thousand human beings could, by any force, be 
set in array against another hundred thousand, with the mutual 
purpose of destruction, when the subject of the dispute perhaps 
concerned not a single person on either side, and even their pas* 
sions took so little part in their hostility, that the signing of a 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 351 

piece of paper might immediately convert them all into friends 
and allies ? If one swarm of bees engages in battle with ano- 
ther, it is for the possession of the hive and honey ; and thus the 
warlike tribes of men which issued from the great northern hive, 
were wont to contend for the occupation of more fertile lands 
in a better climate than their own. But the fruits of victory now 
belong only to the few, who, sitting quiet at home, direct this 
chess-play for their amusement or emolument. To such civilised 
gamesters, however, less than the extermination of an adversary 
will suffice; and a few bold moves may decide the contest with 
little comparative loss. 

A circumstance which seems most remarkably to violate the 
analogy between the human and brutal nature, is the amazing 
difference of perfection attained by different individuals in the 
former, while those of the latter, in their several species, appear 
to be nearly upon the same level. Hence it has been inferred, 
that a very small part of mankind are what their creator intend- 
ed they should be ; and, consequently, that a great future melio- 
ration in the mass is to be expected. But does not the nature 
of a being, capable, indeed, of high intellectual attainments, yet 
at the same time subjected to numerous corporeal wants and ne- 
cessities, which are not to be supplied without care and toil, ren- 
der such a difference unavoidable; and is it not manifestly impos- 
sible that the highly cultivated part should ever be more than a 
small minority ? The leisure that they enjoy, and all the ad- 
vantage of books, instruments, and other things necessary to the 
pursuit of literature, are at the expense of the majority, whose 
bodily labours are by so much the more augmented, as a 
higher degree of cultivation augments the demands of those 
who can compel their services. Of this consequence some phi- 
losophers have been so sensible, that they have condemned not 
only the refinements of sensual pleasure, but even those mental 
luxuries which require a large apparatus ; and they have looked 
for the perfection of human nature in that state of simplicity and 
equality which attends the rude beginnings of society. Though 
I by no means agree with them in their estimate of the real hap- 
piness of man, and think it a timid and narrow policy to acqui- 
esce in imperfection through fear of the effects of a full exertion 
of the powers bestowed upon us ; yet the general fact, that one 
part of mankind must be depressed proportionally to the exalta- 
tion of the other, I regard as indisputable. It is, indeed, a per- 



352 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

fectly laughable ignorance in the speculatist who, sitting in his 
study, with all his conveniences about him, fancies that all the 
world might devote as much time to mental exercise as he does. 
Were he to trace the history of his fire and candle, his paper, 
pen, and ink, he would perhaps be shocked to find how many 
pairs of hands are employed to favour the work of his head. 

AVe may observe in nature numerous instances in which a pro- 
vision seems to be made for proceeding much further in the at- 
tainment of certain purpose? than is actually done. The amaz- 
ing powers of generation bestowed upon fishes, insects, and the 
■whole vegetable race, are, in great measure, apparently employed 
to pure loss, — to the production of an abortive progeny, or of one 
which it is impossible to bring to maturity. But for this seem- 
ing waste of effort we can satisfactorily account from the neces- 
sity of securing a point so essential to the economy of nature, as 
the constant renovation of what is subjected to constant destruc- 
tion. Thus, too, in the self-preservation of the individual, we 
often see an exertion of faculties, either of acting or enduring, 
vastly beyond the common calls of life, and which lie latent in 
the greater part of the species during their whole existence. 
These examples should perhaps diminish our surprise, that the 
sublime faculties granted to man so rarely find opportunity for 
full expansion, and that in whole nations, for many ages, no in- 
dividual arrives at the intellectual excellence of which he is cre- 
ated capable. It is enough that they are inherent in his nature, 
readv to be produced when the general condition of the society 
in which he lives, and his own rank in that society, make it ex- 
pedient. If a difficulty can be diminished by extending it, we 
may allege that it presses as much upon the corporeal as the men- 
tal nature of man. For how few of the species are there who 
acquire the bodily powers of athletes, dancers, or posture-mas- 
ters ; or the nobler and more useful talents of artists of every 
kind ? If we conceive it necessary that a state of things should 
arrive in which all men should be mathematicians, astronomers, 
and metaphysicians, it seems equally so that they should be all 
artificers, painters, and musicians. 

But the moralist, while he readily gives up the probability of 
a general attainment of these points of human excellence,, will 
strongly plead the necessity of supposing a future improvement 
in virtue; for the true definition of this quality being such a dis- 
position of mind or course of conduct as promotes happiness, it 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 353 

must, in all places, conditions, and states of society, be essential 
to the welfare of man. And, indeed, no prospect can be so 
cheering to the heart of the philanthropist, as that of a period in 
which mankind, wisely and faithfully employing the powers with 
which they are endued, and profiting by the lessons of experi- 
ence, shall steadily pursue their own and the general good, and 
cease to inflict upon themselves and others thoss evils which are 
the most numerous and exquisite of the catalogue. If, however, 
we consider what are tiie causes of these moral evils, I fear we 
shall find little reason to expect their abolition, or even their 
considerable diminution, while man is the creature we every 
where find him. It may be said of a high degree of moral, as 
well as of intellectual, excellence, that it is the result of those 
favourable circumstances in which a comparatively few only of 
the species can be placed. The early discipline of a good edu- 
cation, a happy immunity both from the stimulus of urgent wants, 
and the temptations of power and opulence, leisure for the cul- 
ture of the heart and understanding, freedom from false princi- 
ples and bad examples, are advantages which can be obtained 
only under the shelter as it were of social institutions, to the 
support of which numerous moral sacrifices must be made by the 
mass of the community. They who are maintained, protected, 
and governed, without any efforts of their own, may well afford 
a greater attention to moral duties than those who do all these 
offices for them. But it is not from such a select and favoured 
class that an idea is to be formed of what the human species is 
capable of becoming. 

Let us now imagine an inhabitant of another world making a 
survey of this, in the spirit of a naturalist and a philosopher. He 
would discern a beautiful economy of things, in which every sin- 
gle species, besides providing for its own existence, is made sub- 
servient to the necessities of another species ; so that throughout 
all nature nothing exists purely for itself, but the interests of 
one are blended and involved with those of another. By virtue 
of this economy, however, he would find that sacrifices are per- 
petually made of the advantage and even the being of indivi- 
duals, and that life is maintained at the expense of life, and en- 
joyment procured at the expense of enjoyment, throughout the 
sentient creation. Moreover, he would perceive, that the opera- 
tions of inanimate powers, such as the elements of fire, air, and 
water, the principle of gravitation, and the like, though so bene 



354 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

ficial on the whole, are often converte<l into causes of mischief 
and destruction. He would therefore conclude, that the general 
system was an inseparable mixture of good and evil ; but he 
would (or I greatly mistake) discern that the good is intentional 
and preponderant, the evil contingent and subordinate. He 
would receive it as a complete proof of a wise and well arranged 
plan, that, notwithstanding all adverse and destructive processes, 
every species of being maintains itself in existence, and pre- 
serves the rank in the creation it was destined to occupy. 

On turning his view upon the most distinguished and interest- 
ing figure among animated forms — the human species — he would 
see moderate powers of body, inspired by an unknown some- 
thing, which renders them capable of the most wonderful exer- 
tions, and every where establishes a complete superiority over 
the other animal tribes. He would observe this creature agita- 
ted by a vast variety of passions and desires, precipitating him 
into actions, some injurious to his own happiness and that of his 
fellow creatures, others promoting the felicity of both ; he would 
see him building with one hand, and overthrowing with another, 
cultivating and desolating, adorning and defacing, caressing and 
murdering ; but upon the whole, he would find no reason to 
doubt that he also followed the general law of creation, and that 
his existence was a blessing to him, probably the greater in pro- 
portion to the superiority of his faculties. Comparing different 
tribes and individuals of this species, he would be sensible of a 
wide scope for improvement, general and particular, and would 
probably expect, from the ready inter-communication of ideas, 
that it would soon take place. But a closer view of the mecha- 
nism of human societies, and the natural tendencies of things, 
especially if strengthened by a knowledge of past events, would 
be too apt to lead him to suspect that there existed insuperable 
obstacles to an extensive melioration. Taking the human race, 
however, as he found it, he could scarcely conceive that it had 
undergone any corruption or deterioration, which rendered it a 
different agent in the great system of nature from what its Au- 
thor intended it to be. >^uch a supposition would only enhance 
to him any difficulty arising from the inadequate employment of 
the faculties bestowed upon man ; and he would sooner rest sa- 
tisfied in that universal analogy which shows evil every where 
mixed with good, defect with excellence. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 355 

THOUGHTS ON THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 



IN an interesting Memoir of the late Professor Person, no- 
thing appeared to me more curious and worthy of observation 
than the manner in which his father habituated iiim from infancy 
to the exercise of the faculties of memory and attention, by ac- 
customing him to work all the common rules of arithmetic as far 
as the extraction of the cube root by the head alone. It is justly 
remarked, that to this early training he was much indebted for 
the extraordinary powers he afterwards displayed in storing up 
knowledge, and applying it to the occasions of that critical in- 
vestigation in which he so greatly excelled. 

There is, in fact, no part of biography so important, with re- 
spect to the history of the human mind, as that which points out 
the external circumstances which have contributed to the forma- 
tion of moral and intellectual character. It will, indeed, always 
be matter of doubt in what proportion original conformation, and 
incidental circumstances, severally operate in this respect, and 
some reasoners will attribute more to one cause, some to the 
other. But that both exert a powerful influencte cannot be ques- 
tioned ; and as external causes alone are within our direction, it 
is in the consideration of them that we are to look tor practical 
instruction. 

Two characters more diflferent than Richard Porson and Jean 
Jacques Rousseau can scarcely be conceived, and it is proba- 
ble that a great part of the difference was original and con- 
stitutional ; but neither could any two things be more different 
than the courses of mental training which each underwent. The 
parents of both were men of parts, in humble life, and were them- 
selves the early teachers of their children. But Porson's father 
was an unlettered villager, who probably knew nothing of man 
and his concerns beyond his own narrow circle, and the force of 
whose mind had been employed upon speculations which had 
nothing of feeling or fancy attached to them. Rousseau's father, 
on the contrary, was the citizen of a little republic, full of poli- 
tical intrigue, and in which a taste for general literature was 
more widely diffused than, perhaps, in any other spot on the 
globe. The manner in which he t)[)eriei his son's ir-nd was to 
read to him till his eighth year all the romances he could procure. 



356 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

and then to go over with him all Plutarch's Lives, interspersing 
such remarks as might impress him with patriotic ardour and 
high notions of moral excellence. It is impossible not to recog- 
nise in the subsequent life and writings of this singular man the 
pernmnent effects of an education thus expressly calculated to 
make him all feeling and imagination. If we now conceive the 
boys to have been contemporaries, and to have changed fathers, 
we shall scarcely be able to set any bounds to our ideas of the 
alteration in their respective characters. No one will suppose 
that Person would have become Rousseau, or Rousseau, Porson ; 
but it is probable that the eloquence and enthusiasm of the one, 
and the critical inv stigatiiig spirit of the other, would have been 
in great measure suppressed, and the native genius of each would 
have burst out in some new direction. 

I confess that I have not much faith in the decisive and inde- 
lible effects of single and perhaps unobserved incidents, to which 
those who adopt the theory of association are apt to ascribe so 
much in the formation of temper and disposition. I rather im- 
pute such effects to the gradual operation of a continued agency, 
which has time to induce an habitual mode of _^thinking or feel- 
ing, and to convey into the very substance of the mind what is 
analogous to the nutritious part of food received into the bodj. 
Instances are numerous in the records of biography, in which ac- 
cidental circumstances, operating in this manner during the sus- 
ceptible period of early youth, have laid the foundation of those 
irresistible propensities to particular pursuits which have almost 
always preceded the attainment of distinguished excellence in 
them. I shall mention a few of these as they occur to my me- 
mory. 

The puerile fancy of Cowley was nourished by Spenser's 
Faery Queen, which lay in his mother's parlour window, and 
which he had entirely devoured before he was twelve years old. 
Its product was a little volume of " Poetical Blossoms,'' publish- 
ed at the age of fifteen or sixteen. 

Pope's early fondness for reading led him to the perusal of 
Ogilby's Homer and Sandy's Ovid. He was afterwards, while 
yet a boy, an occasional visitor of the theatre, and the fermenta- 
tion of verse and heroism in his mind brought forth an Homeric 
drama, which he procured to be acted by his school-fellows. 
He did not, it is true, afterwards write tragedies, but be trans- 
lated Homer. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 357 

The father of Goldoni, who was a phj'sician, having indulged 
his son when a child with the erection of a little theatre at his 
house, in which the boy and his companions acted plays, after- 
wards in vain attempted to bring him up to his own profession, 
and to that of the law ; and he became the most copious writer 
of comedy in his age. 

Ricliardson, who seems from childhood to liave been a formal 
narrative little man, was early practised in gossip and letter wri- 
ting by the circumstance of being chosen by three damsels as the 
confident of their love affairs and the inditer of their epistles. 
Who does not see that this secretaryship was the immediate 
parent of Pamela, and the remote progenitor of Clarissa and 
Grandison ? 

Gessner^ the pastoral poet and landscape painter, we are told, 
was extremely backward in acquiring the rudiments of learning, 
till a sagacious tutor took him out into the fields, and gave him 
lessons in the midst of the striking objects afforded by nature in 
Switzerland. These so happily impressed him, that he for ever 
associated literature with an ardent passion for rural scenery 
and manners, and charmed his countrymen with his creations of 
the pen and pencil in this walk. 

Sir William Jones had the happiness to receive his first edu- 
cation under a mother who was well qualified to cultivate his 
promising talents. When he asked her questions about any mat- 
ter of information she would answer, "Read, and you will know;" 
and by thus habitually connecting reading with the gratification 
of his curiosity, she inspired him with that insatiable ardour for 
study which ever distinguished him. 

Linnaeus was the son of a poor Swedish clergyman, one of 
whose simple tastes it was to cultivate in his little garden all 
the kinds of plants which he was able to procure. This garden 
was the occupation and delight of his son from childhood, and a 
passion for botany " grew with his growth, and strengthened with 
his strength." 

In all these instances, to which many additions might easily 
be made, it will be found that not a transient impression, but a 
course of repeated action or sensation, was the instrument by 
which that lasting taste or disposition was formed which charac- 
terised the man. It may be useful to pursue somewhat further 
this train of speculation. 
In each of the two great branches of human character, the 



358 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

moral I'lnd the intellectual, may be discerned the influence bolls 
of original conformation, and of secondary or adventitious cir- 
cumstances ; and it is upon just and precise views of the respec- 
tive operation of these two sets of causes, that all conclusions^ 
practical and speculative, concerning character are to be found- 
ed. The records of biography present numerous facts vvliereon 
to build such conclusions ; and facts alone can be relied upon in 
an inquiry which, in reality, is a department of natural history. 

To begin with moral character — The position that temper or 
disposition is a radical quality of mind, never entirely to be 
changed, but only modified in its agency by superinduced habits, 
or by principles of conduct, which, while they serve to give it a 
direction as far as their influence extends, leave it the supreme 
arbiter of life and manners in other points — will probably receive 
illustration and proof from the following examples. 

Cato the Younger was characterised almost from infancy by 
a firm unyielding temper, joined with a slow but solid under- 
standing, which rendered indelible, impressions once form- 
ed, and made him immutable in his purposes. This disposition, 
in and untutored an ill-governed mind, might have been mere vi- 
cious stubbornness and obstinacy ; but the maxims of Roman 
patriotism and Grecian philosophy elevated it to amoral heroism 
of which history aflfords few parallels. It is related, that Pope- 
dius Silo, one of tlie deputies sent to the Italian states to de- 
mand their participation in the rights of Roman citizenship, hav- 
ing been entertained as a guest in the house of Livius Drusus, 
uncle and guardian to Cato and his brother Csepio, once in a 
playful manner, requested the two boys to intercede with their 
relation in his behalf. Ceepio readily promised compliance ; but 
Cato, who had doubtless been nourished in all the lofty senti- 
ments of a Roman, looked in silence at Popedius with an expres- 
■ sion of jlispleasure. — Unable by soft words to overcome his sur- 
liness, Popedius carried him to the window, and threatening to 
throw him out, held him as if ready to let him drop ; but the boy 
bore it without the least indication of fear, or a single concilia- 
tory expression. Popedius had sagacity enough to discern in 
this scene the future bulv/ark of his country's rights. At the age 
of fourteen, being taken to pay his respects to the dictator Sylla, 
with whom his family was connected, and seeing a number of 
heads of noble victims carried out from an inner apartment, he 
asked of his Greek preceptor, Why such a man was suffered to 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 359 

live ? " Because, (he replied) Sylla is still more feared than hat- 
ed." " Give 7nc, then, a sword, (said young Cato,) that I may free 
my country from tyranny ;" and this he uttered with so stern 
and determined an air, that his tutor was obliged to watch him 
closely, lest he should put his purpose in execution. Here were 
manifestly the dawnings of that great character which matured 
and principled by the stoic philosophy, produced the invincible 
assertor of Roman liberty, and the most uprigiit of patriots. In 
the earlier ages of the republic it might also have been marked 
with unfeeling severity; but letters had softened Cato into hu- 
manity, and no man displayed more substantial kindness upon 
adequate occasions. His unsubmitting spirit, indeed, sometimes 
led him into useless and imprudent opposition ; and his strict 
adherence to the rule of right embarrassed his friends as much as 
his enemies ; but it was not his fault that the times were unfit 
for him. 

John Lilburne, the English republican, was not inferior to Cato 
in firmness of resolution and unyielding intrepidity. Perhaps 
there was more of the restless and contentious mixed in his dis- 
position ; yet the differences between the two characters may be 
chiefly ascribed to the difference of their education and situation 
in life. John was an apprentice in London when he first exhi- 
bited his impatience of tyranny by a complaint before the cham- 
berlain against his master for ill usage. He then began to study 
the divinity of the time, which was all turned to controversial dis- 
putation, and he became a zealous puritan, with all the austerity 
of the sect. The Book of Martyrs inspired him with an enthu- 
siastic fervour for acting and suffering in what he deemed the 
righteous cause. He was soon called upon to suffer, and no one 
could go through his trials with a more unsubdued spirit. His 
stedfast appeals to the laws of his country and the privileges of 
Englishmen, procured him great popularity with the inferior 
classes, and the title of Freeborn John. Lilburne passed a life of 
content against power in every hand in which it was placed, of 
dispute with all his superiors in command, and of virulent con- 
troversy on civil and religious topics. He was a brave soldier, 
but never found an authority under which he could continue to 
act. He appears to have been fond of contention for "its own 
sake; yet without doubt there was much of principle in his con- 
stant opposition to injustice and oppression, and the event often 
proved him to be in the right. That a kind of ridicule is attached 



360 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

to his memory, is perhaps chiefly owing to the contemptible na- 
ture of many of the disputes in which he was engaged, and the 
vulgarity of his style and manners. 

The philanthropist Jolni Howard (no man ever better deserved 
that title) was equal to either of the former in tirmness of mind 
but it was unattended with the litigious propensity of the last 
and was accompanied with a singular restlessness that perpetu 
ally urged him to some active pursuit. With only an ordinar;y 
share of moral principle, this might have rendered him merely a 
busy man, occupied in gratifying a mutable curiosity with per- 
severing industry ; but Christianity was to him what stoicism 
was to Cato, " Non sibi sed toti genitum se credere mimdo^^ — a 
system "of practical benevolence, impelling him to sacrifice his 
repose and hazard his life in promoting the welfare of his fellow 
creatures. His determined spirit, and his love of action, were 
modified and directed by this great principle. It rendered him 
in his peregrinations as superior to the calls of appetite, as Cato 
was in the deserts of Africa ; and enabled him to face the dan- 
gers of disease with as much courage as a soldier could display 
on the day of battle. It overcame even curiosity and the love 
of knowledge, and fixed his attention to the one great business 
of benevolence which he had undertaken. 

He keeps his object ever full in sight. 

And that assurance holds him firm and right. 

DUTDEX. 

In the preceding instances, native resolution was actuated by 
motives which outweiglied the selfish principle, and inspired a 
course of conduct of which public good was the object. In the 
class of men who have popularly obtained the denomination of 
great, we shall always meet with the fundamental quality above 
mentioned, but too frequently under a very different direction. 
An example or two of this kind may usefully be adduced by way 
of comparison. 

Julius Csesar, brought up as a young man of rank in a most 
dissolute metropolis, was, for a time, whirled in the vortex of 
pleasure, and confined his exertions to exploits of gallantrj* and 
the attainments of splendid accomplishments. Yet tlie tirmness 
with which he resisted the terrible Sylla, who imperiously urged 
him to divorce his wife, the daughter of Cinna; and the com- 
manding intrepidity he displayed when a captive among pirates; 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 361 

gave manifest tokens of a character born for distinction in any 
walk of life which he should finally pursue. The prospects of am- 
bition at length opened on his mind ; and meeting with no prin- 
ciple to circumscribe them within the limits of legitimate power, 
he entered upon that career, which led him by undeviating steps 
to the subversion of the liberties of his country. The union of 
indefatigable activity and prompt decision with daring enter- 
prise, gave him a superiority over all his competitors, and ensur- 
ed success to his plans. There appears to have been in his com- 
position either a native mildness, or an acquired spirit of mode- 
ration, which rendered him one of the most clement of conquerors 
in a civil war; but the baneful effects of uncontrolled power on 
the temper were beginning to show themselves before he was 
made a sacrifice to patriotic vengeance. 

Intrepidity and resolution have seldom been more conspicuous 
than in the character of Cromwell. This extraordinary person 
seems in his youth to have been noted for a turbulent ungovern- 
able disposition, which threw him into a licentious course of life. 
From this he was reclaimed by an early marriage and admission 
into respectable society ; and he soon began to attach himself to 
that party in which an appearance, at least, of sanctity was re- 
quisite to gain reputation. Nor can it be doubted that his mind, 
naturally prone to enthusiasm, imbibed a portion of real religious 
fervour. But his projects for advancement rendered it necessary 
for him to affect more than he felt ; and in a mixture which, re- 
markable as it may seem, is not uncommon, he combined hypoc- 
risy and cunning with fanaticism. Had not, however, the civil 
contests of the time terminated in an appeal to the sword, he 
might have remained only distinguished in the groupe as a busy 
oppositionist, and a long-winded canter, greatly inferior in ta- 
lents and accomplishments to the parliamentary leaders. But 
the vigour and abilities that he displayed in the field gained him 
the confidence of his party ; and being shackled by no principle, 
he made use of his acquired credit to supplant his competitors, 
and raise himself to sovereign power. Had this man been originally 
bred to arms under a settled government, it is highly probable 
that he would have attained an elevated rank, in which his tur- 
bulent spirit might possibly have incited him to embroil affairs 
for the purpose of further advancement ; but the habitual dis- 
simulation and hypocrisy which the peculiar circumstances of 



S62 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

the time rendered necessary to his actual progress, might never 
have formed an essential part of his character. 

Inflexibility was the base of the extraordinary character of 
Charles XII. of Sweden. In his youth he was stubborn and in- 
docile ; and having the disadvantage of being born heir to a mon- 
archy, he might have been totally uneducated, had not means 
been found of working upon that spirit of emulation which was 
one of his active principles. He was induced to learn Latin by 
being told that the kings of Denmark and Poland were profi- 
cients in that language. He read Quintus Curtius, and from 
that time the ardour for martial glory seems to have taken pos- 
session of his breast. Alexander became his hero and the model 
for his imitation; but without the splendid qualities of that con- 
queror, he possessed what he wanted — ^resolution to resist the 
allurements of pleasure. When called forth to action by the 
unjust aggression of his neighbours, he for ever renounced the 
society of the fair sex and the use of wine, and steeled himself 
to all the toils and hardships of a military life. His temper, na- 
turally insensible, was rendered more unfeeling by the principles 
of arbitrary power, which caused the lives and fortunes of his 
subjects to appear as nothing in his sight, whilst pursuing his ro- 
mantic schemes of conquest. In all his subsequent adventures, 
his successes and failures, the same inflexibility, or obstinacy as 
it might justly be termed, characterised him. He appeared a hero 
at Narva, and a madman at Bender ; but he was radically the 
same in both — inaccessible to fear, to pity, to all the common 
feelings of human nature. He would excellently have filled the 
part of Talus the Iron Man in Spenser ; but to the lasting injury 
of his country, and the disturbance of Europe, fortune had made 
him the directing head as well as the executing arm. He was 
as ready to fight for a punctilio as for a kingdom, and nothing 
but a bullet could stop his career, 

Virgil, in his third Georgic, describing the tokens by which a 
generous nature may be discerned in the young steed, mentions 
the impulse to take the lead of his fellows, and to be the first in 
every daring adventure : 

Pi-imus et ire viam, et fiiivios teiitare ininaccs 
Audet, it ignoto sese coiunwtlere ponti. 

The same spirit is said to show itself in young hounds of an ex- 
cellent breed, and in various other animals of superior races. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 363 

The human species is not devoid of individuals born with 
similar indications of nobleness of nature — with a strong aspira- 
tion after excellence, and readiness to undergo any toils and 
hardships in pursuit of it. Happy is the parent or instructor 
to whose share one of these choice productions has fallen; for 
with this temper of mind theie is no point of attainment within 
the reach of the pupil's faculties that may not be expected. It 
is, however, a disposition that requires peculiar delicacy and at- 
tention in the management: for when suffered to run untrained, 
or misdirected in its objects, it may easily be the source of more 
mischief than benefit, both to its owner and to society. Its al- 
most inseparable companion is an ardent thirst of praise and ad- 
miration ; and these are so often bestowed by the world without 
judgment or consideration, that unless a true estimate of things 
be first established in the youth's own mind, this emotion, so 
useful as a stimulative, may be exercised upon the most frivo- 
lous or improper objects. Another frequent attendant upon this 
disposition is the ambition of grasping at a great number of at- 
tainments at the same time, in order to dazzle beholders by un- 
expected combinations of excellence ; through the indulgence of 
which desire, real excellence in any is often precluded, and fine 
abilities are seen to blossom without bringing any frait to matu- 
rity. For these reasons, there is no class of minds in which so 
much may be usefully done by discipline and instruction towards 
the formation of character, as that which is our present subject 
— a fact which will be rendered apparent by those biographical 
examples both of excellence and defect which will occupy the 
remaining part of this paper. 

The most splendid instance of the passion for excelling, pre- 
sented by history, is that of Alexander the Great. This prince, 
to whom fortune gave the means ready prepared of rising to the 
summit of martial fame, would probably have distinguished him- 
self in any condition. The tamer of Bucephalus and the pupil 
of Aristotle couM scarcely have been a common man. It is in 
some respects unfortunate for mankind that there should be a 
class of human beings, so much elevated above the rest of the 
species, that they can scarcely find any object on which to exer- 
cise the desire of pre-eminence, at the same time innocent, and 
sufficiently dignified. Thus Alexander refused to enter his name 
at the Olympic games unless he could have kings for competi- 
tors J and the great game of contending for the empire of the 



364 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

world was the only one that could satisfy his noble emulation. 
Even in this he seems rather to have been moved by the passion 
of accomplishing difficult and extraordinary tasks, than by the 
vu'gar desire of aggrandisement ; and the conqueror in him was 
subordinate to the hero. In the pursuit of this object he shewed 
himself, at least in the early part of his career, superior to the 
allurements of ease and luxury, and capable of confronting every 
kind of toil and danger ; and thus has established a claim to that 
genuine ardour for excelling, which cannot be gratified without 
the consciousness of personal merits. Sovereigns have such 
easy methods of indulging the wish for distinction, that no force 
of mind is required for the attempt. An Egyptian king had onlj 
to employ all his subjects in the idle work of erecting a loftier 
pyramid than any of his predecessors had done, to render his 
name eternally illustrious among a people of slaves. In more 
enlightened countries, the building of sumptuous palaces, and 
the formation of grand establishments for the arts and sciences, 
though costing nothing to the monarch but an exertion of his 
will, shall perpetuate his memory with the most magnificent 
eulogies. Thus Louis XIV. by nature cold and inactive, by edu- 
cation uninformed and illiterate, having in the pride of self-con- 
sequence said to himself — In whatever point other kings have 
been great, I will be so too — employed the stock of wealth, power, 
and talent which he inherited with his crown, in such a man- 
ner as to become the most conspicuous name in Europe during 
Haifa century, though without a quality which could have dis- 
tinguished him from the mass, if born in a humble condition. 

To return from the spurious to the genuine exemplifications 
of the class in question. — One of the most memorable examples 
aiForded by history of the passion for excelling, joined with ta- 
lents and industry, and many advantages of nature and fortune, 
is that of Alcibiades. This celebrated Athenian displayed from 
childhood the resolution which is essential to greatness of cha- 
racter, as we learn from the following remarkable incident: Be- 
ing at play with other boys in the street, a loaded wagon came 
up just as the game required him to run across : he called to the 
driver to stop, and finding that he paid no regard to his man- 
date, he threw himself upon the ground before the wheel, and 
bade the man drive on if he chose. Many were the frolics of his 
youth, in all of which he exhibited a daring and imperious tem- 
per, and a resolution to distinguish himself in every thing he 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 365 

undertook. He was an attentive and favourite pupil of Socrates, 
and at the same time the most noted debauchee in Athens. He 
was an eloquent speaker, a valiant commander, and a deep poli- 
tician, whilst he was the first racer at the Olympic games, and 
dazzled all Greece by his profuse magnificence. He was every 
thing in extremes, and nothing moderately. In Sparta he was 
admired as a pattern of abstemiousness and hardiness, and in 
Persia he surpassed a satrap in luxury. Every where he was an 
object of wonder, but no where long of esteem ; and for want of 
fixed principles and steadiness of conduct he passed his life in 
perpetual change, and at length perished miserably ; a signal ex- 
ample of the abuse of great talents, with powers of mind ca 
pable of bringing them into full exertion, but mis-directed in their 
application. 

Various parallels might be found to the character of Alcibia- 
des, the splendour of which seems to have made it an object of 
emulation to men of parts and of loose principles. As far as 
the passion for exciting admiration by extraordinary actions and 
accomplishments was its prominent feature, that of the Duke of 
Wharton nearly resembled it. Of this nobleman, Pope, in his 
finely drawn portrait [Moral Ess. Ep. 1.) says, that the "ruling 
passion was the lust of praise:" and that 

Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, 
Women and fools • must like him, or he dies ; 
Tho' wond'ring senates luing on all he spoke. 
The club must hail him master of the joke, &c. 

In Wharton this propensity seems to have been of a lower quali- 
ty than in Alcibiades, and attended with inferior powers of ex 
ertion. Accordingly, the Athenian never sunk into the contempt 
which attended the Englishman, but in the lowest ebb of his for- 
tune retained consequence enough to make him feared. Wharton 
ended " flagitious but not great." 

When the love of praise preponderates the desire of excelling, 
or when the latter is occupied with unworthy objects, the cha- 
racter is chiefly marked by childish vanity and incongruity. 
Even the detestable Nero displayed a great passion for being 
admired in the arts of poetry, music, and acting; and not en- 



• A most injurious combination, characleristip of the splenetic misogynist who 
made it ! 



366 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

tirely satisfied with the hired or compelled acclamations of his 
servile audiences, he actually took great pains, and underwent 
many privations, to qualify himself for appearing before the re- 
fined connoisseurs of Gieece. He was much more affected by 
being called, in the manifesto of one who had taken up arms 
against him, "a sorry musician," than by all the reproaches for 
his cruelty and mis-government; and amidst the terrors of his 
approaching fate, frequently repeated, " What an artist 1 perish!'' 

The emperor Julian was a singularly compounded character, 
the basis of which was a passion for becoming conspicuous ; and 
though in some points it displayed itself in puerile vanity, in 
others it inspired exertions worthy of his high station. Early a 
convert to heathen philosophy, he adopted with fanatical zeal 
all the tenets of pagan theology, and pried with futile curiosity 
into all its mysteries ; but at the same time he practised all those 
high lessons of self-command, temperance, and contempt of 
pomp and splendour, which are infinitely more difficult to a phi- 
losopher on the throne, than to one in the schools. Vain of his 
learning and talents, and imbued with the spirit of literary 
equality, he descended to act the haranguer, the disputant, and 
the satirist, and sunk the dignity of the emperor in the loquacity 
of the sophist. Yet he aimed, not unsuccessfully, at the glory 
of a legislator; and, more unhappily and inconsistently, at that 
of a conqueror ; aspiring to be at the same time an Antoninus 
and an Alexander. After emulating the greatest warriors in 
courage, activity, and the endurance of hardship of every kind, 
he lost his life and brought the empire into extreme danger, by a 
rash attack upon a foe from whom, even in better times, the Ro- 
man arms had reaped little but disgrace. He was, in fact, an 
enthusiast clad in a philosopher's mantle. 

The ambition to excel has rarely appeared with more lustre 
than in the two famous orators of Greece and Rome, Demos, 
thenes and Cicero; for in both it was accompanied with a steadi- 
ness of pursuit, and a limitation to important objects, which 
raised them to high distinction in their several states, and has 
perpetuated their names among those of the greatest characters 
of antiquity. 

In Demosthenes the passion was more confined, embracing 
only the wish of attaining the first rank among the political ora- 
tors of his country ; and numerous are the anecdotes recorded 
of his indefatigable efforts to overcome the natural defects under 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 367 

which he labouret], and to surpass all the most eloquent speakers 
of his time. It was, indeed, no common object of emulation to 
become the man, 

quern mirattantur Atheiise 
Torrentem, et pltni moderaniem frcena theatri. 

JurKjTAr,. 

or, in the words of Milton, who 

Wielded at will tliat fierce democraty, 

Sliook ill' ai-senal, and lulmin'd (ivef Greece, 

To Macedon, and ArtMxei'xes' throne. Par. Reg. 

And although his love of praise may be thought to have stooped 
to a vulgar gratification when he was delighted to hear one mar- 
ket woman say to another — That is the famous Demosthenes ! — 
yet those women were Athenians ; and he knew at the same 
time that the Macedonian court by its hatred bore an equal tes- 
timonj- to his reputation. Though not superior to corruption, 
he possessed a fund of real patriotism, and the liberty of his 
country expired with him 

Cicero was so much favoured by nature in genius and dispo- 
sition, that while yet a : chool boy he became the pride and won- 
der of his young companions. The facility, however, with which 
he obtained youthful distinction did not slacken his efforts in 
pursuit of mature excellence ; and when he had determined upon 
the forum as his chief scene of action, there was no study con- 
nected with the theory and practice of perfect oratory in which 
he did not engage with the greatest ardour. His ideas of this 
perfection were more extended than those of Demosthenes, as 
his topics of public speaking were more varied. He had like- 
wise a peculiar relish for philosophical discussion ; and having, 
during the course of his education, furnished his mind from the 
copious stores of Grecian literature in this branch of research, 
he was enabled, after the subversion of the Roman constitution 
had set him aside from professional duties, to distinguish him- 
self as the greatest writer on morals and philosophy in the Latin 
language. How much that thirst of praise which stimulated him 
to these extraordinary exertions was the foible of this admirable 
person, is too well known ; but though weakly covetous of fame, 
his excellent sense and liberal principles led him to seek it in 
the paths of true glory. 



368 MISCELLANEOUS PrECES. 

fcir William Jones appears to have been inspired with as pure 
and honourable a passion for excelling, as almost any individual 
upon record. He was not less distinguished among the compa- 
nions of his early studies than Cicero himself; and his masters 
might confidently predict that he would turn out no common 
man. Perhaps he had something of the splendid fault so fre- 
quently accompanying this cast of character, the ambition of 
aiming at too many acquisitions at once ; but how few have really 
equalled him in the extent of his knowledge and the brilliancy 
of his performances ! It is, indeed, a kind of presumption to set 
limits to the capacities of a mind endued with great natural 
powers, and excited to action by a strong and unremitting im- 
pulse. Many examples prove that much more may be effected 
by generous enterprise than timid indolence would conceive 
possible ; and although we may sometimes wish that ardour were 
spontaneously tempered by discretion, yet we should be reluc- 
tant to damp it by discouragement or censure. 

It is scarcely necessary to prolong this paper by instances of 
the passion in question displayed by the votaries of particular 
arts or professions, since wherever superior excellence is found, 
that may be presumed to have preceded. Those arts which ad- 
dress themselves in a peculiar manner to public admiration ex- 
hibit the emulative spirit in a high degree, and the history of 
painting and sculpture affords remarkable examples of its agency. 
But when thus confined to one object, and to that with which every 
flattering prospect in life is connected, it perhaps does not so 
clearly designate the general disposition, as when operating 
more excursively. It cannot, however, be doubted, that when the 
pursuit of excellence has occupied the whole man during life, 
as in the case of Michael Angelo, the same temper would have 
shown itself under any circumstances. It is, indeed, a disposi- 
tion so ready to burst forth into display, that it scarcely admits 
of concealment; and as Dryden beautifully says of Mrs. Kille- 
grew, whom he represents as fired with the passion for universal 
excellence, the " bright soul breaks out on every side." 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 569 



ON SELF-BIOGRAPHERS. 



AS it must be admitted that men know more of their own story 
than any other persons can know of them, an obvious advantage 
arises from the disclosures they may choose to make to the pub- 
lic, as being moi-e exact and particular than can be given by any 
other pen. This is especially the case with respect to those early 
periods of life which precede entrance on the open stage of the 
world ; and also to a number of minute domestic facts which, 
however trifling in appearance, are often of fundamental conse- 
quence in the elucidation of character. As far, then, as it is in- 
teresting to contemplate the history of any human being from its 
very origin, and to mark the rise and progress of those qualitieSj 
moral and intellectual, by which he is distinguished from every 
other individual, the information communicated by himself must 
be peculiarly valuable. Who, for example, but Montaigne him- 
self was likely to have acquainted us with that singular mode of 
education by which he was talked into a knowledgeof the learn- 
ed languages, without ever committing to memory the common 
rules of grammar ; and was initiated into that course of promis- 
cuous and excursive reading, which, while it stored his mind 
with a vast mass of fact and opinion, and freed him from the 
shackles of the schools, also rendered him that lax and irregular 
thinker which we find him in his Essays ? What friend of Frank- 
lin's knew him so early and intimately as to have been able to 
relate those circumstances relative to the manner in which he 
passed his childhood and youth, which, in his own narrative, so 
instructively point out the steps of his progress to that character 
of practical wisdom, public and private, for which he was so con- 
spicuous ? What other person but Rousseau himself was ac- 
quainted with the impressions his mind underwent in childhood, 
from that course of novel reading, followed by political lectures 
on Plutarch's Lives, by which his father administered fuel to his 
imagination, and at the same time inculcated the high senti- 
ments of republican equality? 

But it is chiefly in this disclosure of unknown facts, and the 
secret workings of the soul to which no other mortal is conscious, 
that the peculiar advantage of autobiography consists j for no- 
3 A 



370 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

thinj; is more rare than that degree of self-knowledge which 
enables a person, even if wisliing to be sincere, to draw a true 
portraiture of himself. Though a man who internally feels all 
his own foibles ought to be more sensible of them than a by- 
stander, who observes them only in their occasional operation, 
yet such is the blinding power of the self-love which is rooted hi 
every bosom, that they are often rendered either wholly incon- 
spicuous to their owners, or appear with such softenings and mo- 
difications that they are scarcely recognised in their proper cha- 
racter. Hence what promises in the outset to be a frank con- 
fession of a fault, is sometimes so diluted and neutralised in the 
progress, that its effect on the mind of an unwary reader is al- 
most obliterated. A remarkable example of this juggle of self 
love it afforded by a passage of Lord Clarendon's Life of him- 
self, where he is speaking in the third person of his own temper 
and habits. "-He indulged his palate very much, and even took 
some delight in eating and drinking w^ell, but without any ap- 
proach to luxury; and in truth rather discoursed like an epicu- 
rean, than tvas one." Here the language is so ludicrously in- 
consistent, that the noble writer must have laboured under an 
extraordinary degree of mental obscuration not to have perceiv- 
ed it. In another passage the same want of self-knowledge is 
displayed, but without such a contradiction in terms. " He was 
in his nature inclined to pride and passion, and to a humour be- 
tween wrangling and disputing, very troublesome ; which good 
company in a short time so reformed and mastered, that no man 
was more affable and courteous," &c. Now the fact was, that a 
stately, unbending, ungracious behaviour, always adhered to this 
eminent person, and was one cause why in his prosperity his ene- 
mies were much more numerous than his friends. 

Another manner in which self-importance gives a bias to auto- 
biographers is in leading them to imagine that there is some- 
thing very peculiar and extraordinary in their own characters^ 
and in the incidents of their lives. It is flattering to a man's 
vanity to indulge the conception that he is formed in a different 
mould from other mortals, and is marked out by events as one 
destined to act a part appropriate to himself on the theatre of 
the world. This humour is happily exposed by Shakespear in 
the person of Glendower : — 



-At mv nativity 



The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, &c. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. sri 

And after much rodomontage of this kind, he adds. 

These si^^ns have marked lae extraordinary, 
Anil :ill the courses of ni)- lifj (In shew 
I HDi not in the roll of comnuou men. 

The " Religio Medici'' of Sir Thomas Browne is filled with 
-imilar assertions of the writer's singularities in mind and dis- 
j)osition, as well as with extravagant pretentions to almost uni- 
versal knowledge, at the same time that he disclaims the re- 
motest disposition to pride or self-conceit. The celebrated Lord 
Herbert of Cherbury has exhibited in his Memoirs a propensity 
of the same kind. Persons in whom pious feelings predominate, 
are led by this infirmity to arrogate the special proiection of 
Providence, and to find miraculous interpositions in their favour 
in the common escapes from difficulty or danger. 

For this tendency, however, a reader will soon know how to 
make due allowance : and the little ebullitions of self-conse- 
quence appearing in such forms are rather amusing than decep- 
tive, and indeed exhibit a feature of real portraiture; but there 
are causes of misrepresentation in autobiography, the effects of 
which are less obvious to detection. In order to be put suffi- 
ciently on our guard against these sources of error, it is neces- 
sary to consider the motives that usually influence persons to 
become the narrators of their own history. 

The desire of being favourably known to the world must be 
regarded as nearly univei-sal in self- biographers; for although 
there is a kind of blabbing loquacity in some men which urges 
them to write, as well as to talk, of themselves, solely for the 
gratification they find in it, yet, as this disposition is usually ac- 
companied with a degree of vanity, a secret purpose of showing 
themselves off in the fairest colouring will scarcely fail to be- 
come an additional motive. Hence, in all the confessions that 
are made before the public with so much apparent frankness, al- 
though foibles, defects, and even some vices are readily acknow- 
ledged, yet care is taken to suppress every thing that would in- 
dicate meanness, dishonesty, selfishness, cowardice, and all those 
propensities which debase a character in universal estimation. 
And if the writer occasionally discloses facts which would in- 
jure him in the estimation of f exact moralist, it is because, 
not being such himself, he is not aware of the consequence. I 
recollect no instance of a man's betraying his own secrets at the 



37:^ MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

hazard oi' appearing both contemptible and odious, so extraordi- 
nary as that of the Confessions of Rousseau ; but his cast of mind 
was so singular, and indeed in some points approach so nearly 
to insanity, that his conduct can scarcely be cited as an excep- 
tion to the preceding remark. It is, moreover, evident that in 
this very work (which, too, was posthumous) his object was to 
inculcate a very exalted opinion of himself in the most essential 
points ; and he probably thought that the amelioration of his 
character by philosophy obliterated all the stains of his early 
life. In the same manner, fanatical religionists are ready to 
charge themselves with having been the worst of sinners pre- 
viously to that regeneration which has made them saints. 

That remarkable character, Cardan, was also one who, with 
high boasts of himself, has confessed to faults of temper and con- 
duct, which cannot fail to depreciate him in the estimation of 
every sober reader of his life : but it is apparent that his moral 
sense was by no means delicate; for when he mentions his un- 
happy son, who was executed for the murder of his wife, he re- 
presents him as an injured sufterer, rather than as a victim to 
justice. In like manner we find that vain glorious artist, Ben- 
venuto Cellini, in his curious memoirs, mentioning his acts of 
violence and brutal revenge more as matter of boast, than of 
penitence. In professed Jipologies no one would look for much 
sincerity of confession ; yet the loose unabashed character of 
Colley Cibber has rendered his biography of himself, under that 
title, a tolerably resembling portrait of the coxcomb and liber- 
tine ; and certain female apologists, whose reputation was past 
retrieving, have not scrupled to record their slips with reason- 
able fidelity, for they risked nothing in exposing themselves, and 
thereby gained an opportunity of exposing others. The Marshal 
de Bassompierre, another autobiographer, is at no pains to con- 
ceal his deep and successful gaming, and the unbounded license 
of his amours, because, though devout enough in the Roman Ca- 
tholic form, he felt no compunction for these peccadilloes, which 
could not hurt his character as a gentleman. Polonius, in Ham- 
let, when he directs his servant to throw some slander upon his 
son Laertes, by way of fishing out his secrets from his compa- 
nions, only cautions him to 



breathe his faults so quaintly 

That they may seem the taints of liberty. 
The flash and outbreak of a 6ery mind. 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 373 

rhese observations may suffice to show that open confession 
of some faults by no means implies that others are not conceal- 
ed ; and that although we may safely admit all the ill a man 
speaks of himself, we must not conclude that one who knew him 
tiioroughly could not bring to light a great deal more. And on 
the whole, it may be taken for granted that the portraits of per- 
sons drawn by their own hands will, if likenesses, at least be 
flattering ones; and that the narratives of their lives, if com- 
posed by themselves, will, indeed, be rendered interesting by 
circumstances which could not be communicated by others ; but, 
at the same time, by the suppression of some facts, and the mis- 
representation of others, will mislead the I'eader who has no 
means of checking them by different relations. If we possessed 
no other account of Margaret of Valois, the divorced queen of 
Henry IV., and one of the most licentious women in France, 
than her own memoirs, she might pass for a model of chastity. 

Of the works of this class, we have many written by states- 
men, genex'als, and persons employed in important public trans- 
actions, one object of whom may be generally concluded to have 
been the giving a favourable view of the part they themselves 
acted on the scene ; for it would be too much to expect of hu- 
man nature that a public man should sit down to make a state- 
ment of his own errors, purely for the benefit of his successors. 
Such narratives, therefore, though often highly valuable for the 
information they convey, as being derived from sources inacces- 
sible to other writers, must always be read with a degree of 
scepticism. We know that- Csesar, notwithstanding the air of 
unpretending simplicity in his Commentaries, was charged in 
his own time with having passed over in silence various in- 
stances of failure and defeat. If Cicero's different narratives 
of the acts of his consulate had been transmitted to posterity, 
though they might have acquainted us with some circumstances 
of which we are now ignorant, yet we may be sure that he who did 
not scruple to request his frien<l Lucceius to violate the faith of 
history by throwing a lustre on his deeds beyond tlieir desert, 
would not have been more scrupulous in sacrificing truth to 
vanity with his own pen. Vanity, indeed, is a failing which, 
when strongly marked, may justly impair our reliance upon the 
narrator of his own actions, how estimable soever in other points. 
Such a person will at least exaggerate, and give a disproportion- 
ate Consequence to the transactions in which he was concerned. 



374 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

It was said of the brave but gasconading Montluc, that he was 
one "qui multa fecit, plura scripsit" — who did much, but bragged 
of more. The vanity and self-importance conspicuous in Bishop 
Burnet contributed much to weaken the authority of his Hiatory 
of his own Times ; and though his reputation for veracity ap- 
pears in the main to have been gaining ground, it cannot be 
doubted that he over-rated his own share in many of the affairs 
of which he is the relator. It was said of Burnet's work, that 
it might be justly styled " The importance of a Man to himself" 
— a title well merited by perhaps the generality of auto-biogra- 
phers. 

Such are the advantages and defects of this class of biographi- 
cal writings. They are commonly entertaining and interesting; 
they afford materials for the history of the human mind which 
can scarcely be obtained from other sources, and are especially 
valuable for the means they present of tracing the original for- 
mation of characters : at the same time they are almost univer- 
sally partial in the statement of facts ; frequently mislead by 
arrogating to their subjects a greater degree of merit and conse- 
quence than belongs to them ; and perhaps never pourtray with 
that truth of resemblance which would be given by a sagacious 
and impartial observer. It is worth while to read all the most 
noted of these works, but always with a limited and suspended 
confidence. 



ON THE ATTACHMENT 
TO MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



EVERY one who has visited Scotland, or who has read tra- 
vels into that country, must have been struck with the great 
popularity attached to the memory of Queen Mary, displayed in 
the association of her name with all the places of her temporary 
residence, and with the scenes of her transactions ; so that a 
stranger to Scottish history might suppose that the glory and fe- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 375 

licity of her reign had eclipsed those of every other in that coun- 
try, and had thrown all its other sovereigns into oblivion. Yet 
the fact is so much the reverse, that scarcely ever has a reign 
been more unfortunate, or a sovereign less entitled to the grati- 
tude of subjects. Setting aside all the controverted points rela- 
tive to the misconduct of this unhappy princess, it cannot be dis- 
puted, tha,t, being educated in France among her maternal an- 
cestry, the Guises, she from childhood fixed all her affections 
exclusively upon that country — that on her marriage with the 
Dauphin she was prevailed upon secretly to sign away that inde- 
pendence of which the Scottish nation has always been so jealous, 
and to make over her hereditary realm, in failure of issue, as a 
gift to the crown of France — that she came to Scotland with a 
rooted aversion to the country and its inhabitants — that she was 
a bigoted adherent to a religion which the majority of her sub- 
jects had discarded — that in contempt of the native nobility, and 
in defiance of decorum, she gave all her confidence (if nothing 
more) to an insolent Italian upstart — and that after scenes which 
involved the Scottish name in disgrace throughout Europe, and 
which implied, if not the blackest guilt, at least the greatest in- 
delicacy, self-will, and indiscretion on her part, she was the cause 
of a civil war, which terminated in her perpetual exile from her 
country. I well know that much may be said in extenuation of 
most of these instances of misconduct, and that Mary may de- 
serve more to be pitied than to be detested ; but to select her as 
the object of fond attachment, and consecrate her memory as the 
English do that of Elizabeth, and the French of Henry IV. is 
surely unworthy of the acknowledged good sense of the Scotch 
nation. 

It is not difficult, however, to assign causes for this national 
partiality ; and three especially may be pointed out as having 
operated upon differents sets of people. 

The patriots ot Scotland, warm in the recollection of its strug- 
gles for independence against England, forget every thing in 
Mary but the unjust treatment she met with from her English 
rival, and regard her as the victim of a system of policy directed 
to the subjugation of their country. They pardon her subser- 
viency to France, from the consideration, that to its connection 
with that kingdom, Scotland was indebted for its chief support 
against the usurpations of England. It is enough to excite their 
2,eal in her favour, that she was a Scottish queen unjustly put to 



376 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

death by an English one ; and all her faults are sunk in her poli- 
tical martyrdom. The motive to this class, of which the excess 
alone can be blamed, is nationality. 

Another set of Mary's advocates are chiefly instigated by par- 
tiality for the house of Stuart, a feeling once very predominant 
in Scotland, and widely diffused in the sister country by the spi- 
rit of jacobitism. To all these, the Queen of Scots is the revered 
relic of an ancient royal house, and the progenitor of that fav- 
ourite race of sovereigns which long held the sceptre of the com- 
bined kingdoms. The resistance to her government, first raised 
by the Scottish calvinists, whose principles of state partook of 
republicanism, appears to them in the light of a criminal rebel- 
lion, and they espouse her cause as the sacred cause of mon- 
archy. The zeal of this class may be denominated party. 

The third, and perhaps most numerous, tribe of Mary's admi- 
rers are the sentimentalists. These form to their imagination a 
figure of exquisite beauty, adorned with every amiable quality 
and elegant accomplishment, and fondly sympathise with all its 
distresses, as those of a fair and innocent sufferer, inflicted by a 
jealous rival. The scene of her execution, so pathetically paint- 
ed by two historians little favourable to her memory, melts them 
to compassion, and they cannot think that one who died so hero- 
ically could have lived guiltily. The tender, the romantic, the 
poetical, in both kingdoms indifferently, indulge this sensibility 
whenever the charming Queen of Scots is recalled to mind ; and 
due allowance, certainly, ought to be made for feelings springing 
from so pure a source. We learn from history, that the interest- 
ing queen Joan of Naples, who also had the misfortune of being 
charged with the murder of her husband, was the object of simi- 
lar emotions. At the same time, it must not be thought extra- 
ordinary if those who have been accustomed to form their esti- 
■ mate of characters with a little more moral consideration, should 
be backward in participating of this amiable enthusiasm. In fact, 
few things are more prejudicial to morality than indulgence to 
gross faults and crimes, on account of qualifications which imply 
little estimable in the owners, and are useless to those with whom 
they are connected. The grand inquiry relative to persons in 
every station of life ought to be, how they have acquitted them- 
selves in the first line of their duty. For failures here, no infe 
rior merits can compensate. 

I cannot conclude without a serious admonition to the respect 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 5,77 

able patriots of Scotland no longer to countenance a weak and 
childish attachment, which is injurious to the memory of their 
other sovereigns, and inconsistent with the sobriety and manli- 
ness of the national character. 



ON THE IMITATIVE PRINCIPLE. 



EDUCATION is the process by which a creature is conduct- 
ed from the weak and imperfect condition of new existence, to a 
state of maturity. It takes place, therefore, in some degree with 
respect to the whole animal creation, which, by the constitution 
of nature, has this progress to pass through. In the inferior 
classes, however, it consists in mere corporeal change, effected 
by the sure operation of natural causes, without any adventitious 
aid. The young of many animals are dropped into the midst of 
all they want, furnished with faculties enabling them spontane- 
ously to make a proper use of what is provided for their nutri- 
ment. These might be called the fayourites of nature, were not 
the extent of their enjoyments as limited as their procurement 
is easy. The young of the more perfect animals are not qualified 
so soon to live independently. Strength and cunning are requi- 
site to many, in order to secure their subsistence and protect 
them froni their enemies A task, therefoi'e, devolves upon their 
parents, which consists of two parts ; the providing of food and 
shelter for their bodies, and the instructing of them in those artg 
of life which they will hereafter have occasion to practise. With 
regard to the latter, however, nature seems chiefly to rely upon 
tha.t principle of imitation which she has implanted in the young 
of all animals, and which prompts them to make attempts at do- 
ing all they see done, till by repeated trials they attain the power 
of doing the like. This principle alone probably suflices for the 
education of animals in general, though in some instances we 
discern efforts in the parent to point and direct it. Thus, the 
parent bird is not content with flying in the sight of her young 
ones, but takes manifest pains in iijstrucling and encouraging 
them to fly. 
SB 



3; 8 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Among the less civilised tribes of mankind, the imitative prin 
ciple, with a slight degree of attention in directing it, consti- 
tutes almost the whole of education. The young savage, as soon 
as he is able to use his limbs, accompanies his father to the chase 
or the fishery, makes his little bow and arrows, sets his traps for 
small birds, in short, does in miniature all that he sees done by 
his elders, in copying whose actions he places his utmost ambi- 
tion. If active and ingenious by nature, he acquires every thing 
almost of his own accord, and gives no trouble to an instructor. 
lie learns the use of language by imitation, selects his food and 
chooses his pastimes by imitation, adopts ceremonial observances 
and superstitions by imitation, practises the arts of life by imita- 
tion ; and, in fine, squares his whole conduct according to that 
principle. Some more curious points of knowledge or skill, some 
secrets which long experience has taught, may be communicated 
to him by his parents in the way of positive instruction ; and 
constraint may be occasionally used to force him to apply to a 
diflicult or laborious task. But, in general, this is unnecessary. 
The arts requisite in savage life are simple, and skill in them is 
to be obtained by repeated practice alone. Their obvious utility, 
and the honour gained by excelling in them, are motives suffi- 
cient to stimulate the emulation of the young; and what they 
imitate, they soon equal. "With modes and habits of life, senti- 
ments and opinions are acquired, and thus the new generation, 
becomes an exact copy of the old. This is what may be called 
natural education. Its effects, as far as they go, are certain ; and 
there is no more doubt that the young of the human species thus 
brought up will resemble their parents, than that the young of any 
other animal will do so. This education prevails in its utmost 
perfection among the savage Americans ; and it is curious to re- 
mark how, through its means, with scarcely any artificial instruc- 
tion, and with the least possible restraint on freedom of action, 
the same end has been attained of forming a warlike character, 
with all its love of glory, fear of shame, endurance of hardship, 
and contempt of pain and death, which was effected by the se- 
vere and unnatural rigours of the Spartan discipline. 

Even in civilised societiej^ a greater share of education is en- 
trusted to simple imitation than is, perhaps, generally conceived. 
The common exercise of the limbs, the practice of numerous lit- 
tle arts, the use of language itself, that noble distinction of man 
from inferior animals, are all imbibed without direct instruction 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 379 

Manners, customs, the decencies of life, and even sentiments of 
morality and religion, are in great measure derived from the pro- 
pensity to imitate and adopt whatever is habitually heard and 
seen. Great part of the wisdom of the wise and of the virtue ot 
the good is thus insensibly acquired : indeed, so much is done 
by it, that it may rather be made a question what else is requi- 
site in education, than what is the efficacy of this. And surely 
if it can be shown that what \a most valuable to the man can be 
obtained at no other expense than that of setting proper exam- 
ples in the way of the child, for his spontaneous imitation, such 
a training will be thought preferable to the elaborate and uncer- 
tain process of artificial instruction. 

It cannot escape observation, that in the list of things which 
young people are usually set to learn, some may be termed es- 
sential, and others only subordinate ; and though all persons will 
not agree in the particulars which are to be referred to each of 
these classes, yet it will be generally allowed that the essential hvq 
such as exert the greatest influence upon after life. To secure 
these, though at the expense of the others, ought to be the care 
of every wise parent ; and the first step to it is, that parents 
themselves should resign the vanity of showing q^their children 
by forced acquisitions which are only admired in them as chil- 
dren, and are thrown by and forgotten on the approach to ma- 
turity. It is very much on their account that children are se lan- 
ded from family society, and banished to boarding-schools, where 
they live in severe restraint or rude familiarity, estranged from 
all domestic endearments, and deprived of the means of knowing 
any thing of that world which they are shortly to enter. The 
most agreeable view of human society is that of an assemblage of 
human beings of every age, sex, and condition, acting in their 
mutual relations to each other, mingling in serious and sportive 
occupations, and taking their several parts in the grand drama 
of life. In such a society it is that minds are formed, that know- 
ledge and manners make their silent progress, and that the imi- 
tative principle gradually leads on the young to the character and 
acquirements ot,maturity. It is an assortment of individuals 
made by the hand of nature, in which all have duties to perform, 
pleasures to receive, and improvements to make. Banish a part 
of what composes/amzVy, and the whole system is defective. It 
should comprehend not only the father and mother, tl\e servants, 
and the child in the cradle, but the rising youth in every succes- 



S80 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

sive gradation. From such a comjilete band, as it were, pro- 
ceeds the full harmony of the charities of life. The children of 
middle age look down upon the infants with tender afiection, 
and up to the elder branches with a softened respect; thus fos- 
tering emotions which are to make them amiable and estimable 
in future life. When the well grown boy employs himself in 
teaching, conducting, and protecting his younger brothers and 
sisters, and the womanly girl assists her mother in the cares of 
the nursery, what a fund of skill and patience are they acquiring 
for the most important duties of men and women ! 

It may be made a general remark, that when any one of the 
divisions of mankind is separated from the rest, and forms a so- 
ciety apart, a generic character is produced by virtue of the 
imitative principle, widely deviating from that which it would 
have maintained while mingled with the mass. Thus the monas- 
tic societies, male and female, have composed a race of beings, 
in their manners and sentiments scarcely preserving any simi- 
larity with those of the world they have renounced. Those go- 
vernments which have been desirous of training military men to 
the highest pitch of ferocity, have been careful to prevent them, 
from mixing in the scenes ef civil life. Soldiers long confined 
to a garrison, and sailors to a ship, are apt totally to forget their 
relation to the community at large, and to become assimilated to 
a band of robbers in their den. The Zaporavian Cossacs are so 
sensible of the effects of this seclusion, that in their community, 
which is an association for blood and plunder, they admit no 
women or children. I would not say any thing unnecessarily 
harsh of institutions among ourselves which many approve ; but 
I might be permitted to ask, what are those boasted virtues of 
hardy resolution, unshaken fidelity to their companions, steady 
combination against authority, and defiance of punishment and 
censure, which are acquired at our public schools, but qualities 
resembling those of the detached societies above mentioned, and 
directly hostile to the principles which produce the welfare of so- 
ciety in general ? 

With respect to the schools for the other sex, I cannot sup- 
pose them nurseries of dispositions like these, nor am I a be- 
liever in the stories circulated, chiefly among the licentious, 
concering the prevalence of gross violations of decency in them. 
I am convinced, that in all the reputable seminaries of this class 
the higher morals are guarded with due vigilance. But I would 
ask those who are best acquainted with them, whether the society 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 381 

of a number of equals under rigorous restraint, without the sof- 
tening of domestic pleasures and parental endearments, do not 
frequently tend to fret and sour the temper, and give scope to 
mean and spiteful passions, to envy, detraction, and tale bear- 
ing, which render unlovely the most amiable part of the creation? 

What is the result of all these observations ? That since the 
imitative principle has such a powerful operation upon the fu- 
ture character, it is of the highest importance that proper objects 
should be presented to it during the early years of life — and that 
due advantage should be taken of its influence, to inculcate 
those lessons which by no other means can be so easily and effi- 
caciously impressed upon the youthful mind. JDomesiic education 
alone affords the opportunity of applying this piinciple in the 
fullest and most beneficial manner ; and, therefore, in a general 
view, deserves the preference to other modes. 

There are, however, various exceptions to this preference of a 
home education, which demand attention. The first to be men- 
tioned is a most serious one ; it is, that in the present state of 
manners a child frequently cannot draw his examples from a 
more improper source than his father's house. And if such an 
awful consideration be unable to produce a change in the pa- 
rental economy, doubtless its weight is decisive. Let the child 
rather be exiled to the remotest parts of the earth than stay to 
date his ruin from home. Nor, when the danger is manifest, 
would I think of concealing or palliating it by proposing the ex- 
pedients of separate apartments, a distinct establishment, or 
other safeguards, which must all prove unavailing where the 
current of dissolute manners runs strong. One remark, how- 
ever, I will venture to make. Where the principal hazard is 
supposed to arise from the idea a child of family and fortune 
brought up at home will acquire of his own consequence, by- 
means of the deference and submission he will experience from 
servants and dependants, that will not be effectually obviated at 
a public school. The pretended equality in those schools is ra- 
ther imaginary than real. There, not less than at home, are 
parasites and panders, vigilant to flatter his pride and minister 
to his inclinations. When boys of inferior fortune are sent to 
public seminaries for the avowed purpose of ingratiating them- 
selves with the sons of persons of rank, can it be supposed that 
the latter will be left ignorant of their importance, and uncorrupt- 
ed by its effects ? The generosity ^of spirit usually attributed to 



,82 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

youth educated at those schools is, I fear, of no genuine kind ; 
and the mercenary character of the age has in no instance more 
disgusted me, than in the sentiments 1 have discovered in some 
of these tiros, who, in speaking of the reputation and proficiency 
of some of their fellow scholars, have dwelt with peculiar com- 
placency on the advantages they were likely to derive from them 
in the pursuit of pecuniary emolument. Fair fame, literary plea- 
sures, the gratification of parents and friends, were ideas that 
appeared quite foreign to their conceptions ; and gain seemed as 
miich their leading object, as if simple and compound interest, 
rather than Cicero and Horace, had been the study for their 
years. 

Another exception to domestic education arises from the ne- 
cessity of acquiring certain objects of instruction which cannot 
be attained in the requisite degree at home, even with the assis- 
tance of a day-school, which I consider as no deviation from the 
domestic plan. These objects are chiefly, in the male sex, clas- 
sical literature in its highest form ; in the female, the accom- 
plishments of polite life in an equal style of perfection. Of the 
existence of this necessity no general judgment can be formed. 
It is an individual question in each particular case, and only to 
be determined by the views of the parent as to the future desti- 
nation of the child. Doubtless there are desirable situations in 
this country which can scarcely be obtained without a high clas- 
sical reputation, and, it may be added, without those connections, 
and that habit of pushing and elbowing through a crowd of com- 
petitors, which are the usual acquisitions of a public school. If 
these are to be had at any rate, the price must be paid for them ; 
and it may be prudentially right to sacrifice every thing — ex- 
cept (some will say) morals — to such an object. As I am now 
speaking of the earlier periods of education, it is needless to 
point out, as further exceptions, those professional studies which 
are to be sought in colleges and universities. At the time when 
they commence, the season approaches in which domestic life 
must of course be renounced, and new scenes be entered upon. 
The imitative principle, however, ought still to be kept in sight, 
for its operation is scarcely less powerful than at an earlier age. 
It now points io fashion ; and if some seminaries are character- 
ised by the fashion of idleness and dissipation, and others by 
that of industry and sobriety, a parent who has his son's best in- 
terest in view, will not hesitate about the preference. To imi- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 383 

tation, likewise, may be referred the peculiarities of sect and 
party which now begin to be strongly marked and permanently 
fixed ; and they who are concerned in supporting such distinc- 
tions must take care to place suitable models before the imita- 
tive youth. 

Of those necessities which oblige females in certain ranks of 
life to pursue accomplishments by a sacrifice of the qualifica- 
tions requisite to make them good wives and mothers, I confess 
myself an inadequate judge ; nor shall I venture to say any thing 
concerning the accomplishments themselves, and the best mode 
of acquiring them. There is one female accomplishment, how- 
ever, on which I shall take the liberty to make a few remarks, 
and this is a talent for conversation. I believe I shall not err in 
placing it at the head of all attainments with respect to its at- 
tractive powers. Other excellencies inspire occasional admira- 
tion, but this rivets the attention. It fascinates" even more, at 
least more generally, than beauty ; nor is it fitted for the throng 
and circle alone, but exerts its influence in the private party, 
and constitutes the charm of domestic society. That it is so 
little cultivated among us may seem surprising; but there are 
no masters to teach it, nor do wealth and rank afford peculiar 
facilities for acquiring it. In fact, as far as it is a qualification 
to be learned, and not the gift of nature, next to the essential 
requisite of a well furnished mind, the liabit of holding free and 
mixed conversation must be the most efficacious aid. But where 
is this advantage to be obtained ? Certainly not within the walls 
of a boarding school, where the trivial chatter of children among 
one another, only interrupted by the chilling presence of de 
spotic governesses, must exclude every possible attempt at ra- 
tional and animated converse. Domestic life, when it is what it 
ought to be, is the only female school for this attainment. Where 
parents have the ability to lead, and the sense to encourage, 
proper conversation, and where a due mixture of well educated 
visitors of both sexes and all ages infuses life and variety into 
the social circle, there is the theatre where this delightful accom- 
plishment receives its birth and perfection. 

It is unnecessary to specify other exceptions to domestic edu- 
cation, arising from circumstances which depreciate the value 
of home, though not of an immoral nature ; such are vulgarity, 
ignorance, awkward manners, singularities, and the like. In 
these cases, it is not the object of wise parents to make the chil- 



384 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

dren similar to themselves, and therefore the imitative principle 
must have other models to work after. If these cannot be pro- 
vided but by means of a school, the expedient must be submitted 
to as the least evil. It may likewise be proper sometimes to 
check the force of domestic imitation, even when upon the whole 
well directed, by temporary absences and changes of scene, lest so 
close a family likeness be caught as to render the young mere 
copies of the old, and mannerists m character. But this may be 
left to the suggestions of good sense without further remark ; 
and I now close a discussion which the importance of the sub- 
ject has carried beyond its intended limits. 



HISTORICAL RELATIONS OF POISONINGS. 



EVERY one who is conversant with history must recollect 
numerous instances in which the death of eminent persons has 
been attributed to poison. In some periods, particularly, this 
notion has been so prevalent, that scarcely one is to be met with 
in a whole line of sovereigns who has been supposed to have 
died from the consequences of mere natural disease. Besides 
this vague supposition, several of the more noted cases of poi- 
soning have heen admitted into the number of unquestioned his- 
torical facts, although attended with circumstances which aliitle 
reflection would show to be highly improbable. 1 shall not here 
inquire whether the propensity to this belief be owing to a natu- 
ral malignity in mankind, a love of wonder and mystery, or any 
other innate principle; it is sufficient that it is one of the sources 
of erroneous opinion, to induce a lover of truth to submit it to 
impartial discussion. 

It appears to me, that in judging of this matter certain rules 
or canons may be laid down, which might abridge the process of 
inquiry in each particular case, or even supersede such an exa- 
mination as, from the distance of time, and want of authentic 
testimony, cannot now be satisfactorily instituted. The first of 
these that I shall propose is the following : Great crimes are to 
be regarded as among the rarer occurrences of human life ; when- 



.MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 385 

ever, therefore, an event can with probability be accounted for 
without tlieir aid, it is unphilosophical to suppose their exist- 
ence. 

I know not how far this proposition will be generally allowed ; 
but for my own part, being convinced that there is more good, both 
moral and physical, than evil in the world, and that even in bad 
characters crimes abhorrent to human nature are not committed 
without a degree of repugnance, I cannot give an easy credit to 
such an imputation as that of poisoning, unless I perceive a very 
powerful motive inciting to the deed. Even adepts in villainy 
have held the maxim that crime is too precious a thing to be la- 
vished, and have therefore reserved it for important occasions. 
In fact, they have been desirous of doing without it, if possible; 
both to save themselves the secret pain of guilt, which the most 
hardened can seldom entirely subdue, and to escape the odium 
and danger of a detection. Certain characters in history are so 
blackened with infamy, that every charge against them is apt to 
appear probable, and examination is thought superfluous. But 
many of those persons were as prudent as they were wicked j 
and the actions of a Tiberius or a Borgia require adequate mo- 
tives, as much as those of the most virtuous of mankind. In se- 
veral of these cases of imputed poison, a known constitutional 
disease, or old age, would soon innocently have effected all that 
crime could propose to do. When almost the whole royal family 
of France was swept away in the latter years of Louis XIV., 
men of understanding saw the cause in the enfeebled progeny of 
luxury, rather than in the chemical laboratory of Philip of Or- 
leans. 

Another canon is, that the supposition of poison is not to be 
adopted in order to account for deaths, the circumstances of 
which are totally different from the known effects of poisonous 
substances. 

In common opinion, poison, like magic or any other mysteri- 
ous power, is conceived capable of acting in any mode required. 
It can kill instantly, or at ten years distance — by the ordinary 
vehicle of food and drink, or by the extraordinary conveyance of 
perfumes, vapours, and topical applications — with known and 
customary symptoms, or with such as are new and unaccounta- 
ble. But no physician or naturalist can admit such gratuitous as- 
sumptions. He will, in the first place, remark that all the poi- 
sonous substances which modern researches (so much more accu- 
3C 



386 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

rate than ancient) have detected, are referable to certain classes, 
distinguished by precise and definite modes of action. Thus, the 
corrosive, the drastic, the narcotic poisons, in all their various de- 
grees of strength, are as well known by their sensible operation, 
as the classes of medicines with which they are connected, and 
in which, indeed, they are for the most part comprehended. I 
do not mean to assert that it is impossible there should be in na- 
ture deleterious substances whose effects are not reducible to the 
above mentioned classes ; but I would maintain it to be highly 
improbable that any such, in those parts of the world which have 
been the chief theatres of historical events, should have escaped 
the inquiries of naturalists and chemists. Further, it will appear 
that some of the imputed consequences of poison are absolutely 
irreconcileable to the laws of the animal economy. Thus, though 
it be possible that a noxious substance received into the stomach 
shall not only excite immediate disturbances, but shall lastingly 
injure the constitution ; yet that, conformably to some stories, it 
should lodge weeks and months in the intestinal canal perfectly 
harmless, and reserve all its mischievous effects to some remote 
period, precisely determined by the giver, is, I conceive, an im- 
possibility. Again — that any poison can be so volatilised and 
concentrated as to kill by the odour communicated to a letter or 
a pair of gloves — or that any exists sufficiently strong and pene- 
trable to prove mortal by infecting the caul of a wig, or by 
fruit touched by an envenomed knife — will scarcely be cre- 
dited by a reflecting mind ; for although the miasms of cer- 
tain diseases are destructive in forms as subtle as these, it is in- 
conceivable that any human beings could prepare a venom so 
exquisite without being themselves destroyed by it. 

A vexy suspicious circumstance with respect to many stories 
of poisoning is the alleged efficacy of counter poisons. The 
doctrine relative to these substances — that a previous use of 
them will fortify the body against the operation of any poisons 
that may be afterwards administered — is contrary to every fact 
respecting such things as we know to be really poisonous. One 
of the most famous compositions of the antidote class, that con- 
trived for Mithridates by his physician Archigenes, has come 
down to our times ; and it is certain that a person might take 
large doses of it daily for his whole life without being secured 
from the baneful effects of any poison, except, perhaps, opium, 
which is contained in the composition itself, 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 387 

A number of the antidotes in highest repute have been tlie 
most inert substances in nature, chosen from their rarity alonei 
or from some fanciful and superstitious notion connected with 
them, and such as could have no possible efficacy in rendering a 
deleterious drug harmless. Indeed, the whole antidotary, which 
was formerly a copious division in books of materia medica, is 
expunged from modern works of that class. 

When, therefore, of two persons supposed to have taken poi- 
son, one is alleged to have escaped by means of a counter-poison, 
we may pretty safely conclude that neither of them was in reality 
in danger from that cause. 

Poisoning and magical arts are common combinations in cri- 
minal charges. Indeed, the term venejicium in Latin signifies 
equally poisoning and sorcery. We know the latter to have 
been a fictitious crime, the creation of superstition and credu- 
lity; and it is highly probable that in those instances the poi- 
soning was in like manner a false imputation, the forgery of ma- 
lignity and calumny. It is true, the charge of sorcery or witch- 
craft has sometimes been well founded ; that is, practices of that 
kind have really been employed, in the belief that they would 
produce the mischiefs intended ; and persons capable of such 
criminality would probably feel no repugnance at any other ne- 
farious practices ; but, on the other hand, if they confided in their 
magical rites, they would think an additional mode of effecting 
their wicked purposes superfluous. 

As another rule in judging of stories of poisoning, it might, 
perhaps, be required in support of them to show by what means 
the poison could be administered ; or, at least, to answer the ob- 
jection often arising from the apparent difficulty of such admi- 
nistration. Kings and princes are usually surrounded with 
officers in such a situation of responsibility, or so much attached 
to their persons by interest, that it would be no easy matter either 
to engage them to concur in such a design, or for any one of them 
to execute it without the hazard of Immediate detection. Vol- 
taire may perhaps be thought to have displayed an outrageous 
degree of scepticism in questioning the oft'er made by the physi- 
cian of king Pyrrhus to the Roman consuls, of poisoning his mas- 
ter, on the ground that the confidential medical attendant upon 
an opulent monarch could not expect a reward from the magis- 
tracies of a poor republic, adequate to the risk ansi certain loss he 
would incur by the attempt : I have no doubt, However, that phy- 



388 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

sicians liave often been falsely accused of this crime. They 
have, indeed, the easiest opportunities of administering a fatal 
dose ; but they are the most closely watched ; and in arbitrary 
courts it is a service of danger enough to give even an approved 
medicine of powerful operation. 

It is very seldom that in historical relations of poisonings proof 
has been given of the fact from examination of the dead body. 
Appearances, indeed, are often mentioned as denoting poison, 
but these are sometimes of so marvellous a kind as to throw doubt 
upon the whole story; such is that of the heart remaining entire 
on the funeral pyre when the rest of the body was consumed. In 
fact, there is no change in the dead body induced by poison which 
is not also a consequence of natural disease, except large and 
recent erosions of the stomach and bowels ; yet many positive 
judgm.ents have been hazarded where this circumstance was 
w anting, and where nothing was seen but what was entirely equi- 
vocal. The detection of the remains of some poisonous substance 
in the intestinal canal is a demonstrative prd&fof the fact, which 
seems scarcely ever to have been attempted in cases recorded by 
historians. 

If the preceding rules and observations are well founded, we 
shall be warranted in regarding with doubt, and admitting with 
caution, many of the most remarkable instances in which the 
death of eminent persons has been attributed to poison, especi- 
ally where strong prejudices have prevailed against the supposed 
perpetrators, and the crime has been imputed as a thing of course, 
without any evidence of fact. The narrations may justly be more 
suspected when they relate to an ignorant and superstitious age 
or country, which have always most abounded in tales of wonder 
of every kind. 

I am very far from supposing that human wickedness has not 
often, both in public and private life, employed this instrument 
in effecting its detestable purposes ; but something is gained to 
the cause of benevolence whenever we are able to exonerate our 
fellow creatures from any odious charge ; and historical truth is 
at all events an interesting object of inquiry. I shall now pro- 
ceed to apply the principles I have attempted to establish, in an 
examination of some noted instances in which credit has been 
given to the imputation of poisoning. 

Germanicus Caesar, the nephew and adopted son of the empe- 
ror Tiberius, is, by some writers, positively asserted to have been 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 389 

poisoned by Piso, prefect of Syria, at the instigation of Tiberius, 
Suetonius and Tacitus relate the circumstances of his death, and 
both mention the suspicion of poison, the former seeming to give 
credit to it, the latter not. From their accounts, particularly that 
of Tacitus, which is the fullest, it appears, that Germanicus, be- 
ing sent by his uncle to command in the east, was followed by 
Piso, a man of violent temper, and hostile to the young prince ; 
and there is good reason to suppose that Tiberius, in conformity 
with the maxims of his dark and crafty policy, had purposely 
chosen a person of that character to check and control his too 
popular nephew. Germanicus, after visiting various countries, 
returning from Egypt to Antioch, fell sick (here, and lingering 
some time between apparent amendment and relapse, at length 
died. As he was the great favourite of the Roman people, his 
death excited universal commisseration, which his friends took 
every means to augment; and suspicions of foul practices 
were soon raised against Piso, which were at length brought to 
judicial examination before the senate. The emperor seems to 
have acted with great fairness and propriety on the occasion, suf- 
fering the accusation to take its free course, yet endeavouring 
to moderate the violence and prejudice of the public mind. 
The charges against Piso were various ; but that respecting 
the poison was supported by the following evidence alone. 
The act was asserted to have been committed at a banquet^ 
given by Germanicus himself, in which Piso sat next to him, 
who was imagined to have poisoned his food by touching it with 
infected hands — a supposition than which one more improbable 
and even absurd has scarcely ever been made in a similar case ! 
The dead body, when exposed on the forum of Antioch, is said 
by Suetonius to have exhibited livid spots, with foam at the 
mouth ; and a very extraordinary circumstance is related, namely, 
that the heart remained unconsumed on the funeral pyre ; a fact 
which the philosophy of the day regarded as decisive of poison ; 
though, indeed, Pliny asserts it also to occur in those who died of 
the morbus cardiacus. It is further asserted, that a famous fe- 
male poisoner, an intimate of Plancina, the wife of Piso, on being- 
sent for from the province to Rome, died suddenly at Brundu- 
sium, and that poison was found tied up in a knot of her hair. 
As no signs of violent death were disco.vered in her body, it 
seeras to have been imagined that the power of the poison pene 



390 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

tratetl through her skull into her brain. Such weak and ridicu- 
lous arguments are surely more calculated to excite disbelief 
than conviction. 

One thing which appeared on the trial, though a proof of the 
bad intentions of the enemies of Germanicus, yet, according to 
my principles, is rather an argument against the poisoning. This 
was, that about the house in which he lodged, certain leaden 
images, relics of human bodies, and verses of incantation were 
found, by which his foes evidently hoped to render his disease 
mortal. If they were conscious of having administered poison, 
these magical practices might have been spared. 

On the whole, though Piso, despairing to survive the popular 
odium against him, and probably conscious of unwarrantable con- 
duct towards the prince, put an end to his own life in prison, 
yet it appears to me almost certain, that the death of Germani- 
cus was owing to natural disease, aggravated, perhaps, by alarm 
and vexation ; and in no respect to poison. 

One of the most famous stories in the annals of poisoning is 
that of Pope Alexander VI. and his son Csesar Borgia, of whom 
the first is said to have been killed, and the second thrown into 
a dangerous illness, by poison taken through mistake, which they 
had themselves prepared for others. The characters of these 
monsters in the human shape will certainly render credible any 
useful crime which comes within the compass of the most con- 
summate villainy ; but at the same time, this just prejudice 
against them may easily become a cause of error in particular 
cases. The story is related with great diversity of circumstance 
by diff'erent authors ; but taking that given by Tomasi, in his life 
of Cgesar Borgia, as apparently the most accurate, we shall pro- 
bably find reason to doubt whether poison had any concern in 
the event. The simple narrative of what is known to have hap- 
pened is the following. 

Pope Alexander having made a promotion of nine new cardi- 
nals, invited them and some of the old ones to an entertainment 
given at the villa of a cardinal near the Vatican. He and his 
son went to the place about the cool of the evening. It was the 
2d of August, and the weather extremely hot. The pope called 
for a draught of wine to quench his thirst, and his son followed 
his example. The guests arriving soon after, they sat down to 
supper ; when the pope was suddenly taken ill, fainted away. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 391 

and was carried out senseless. His son was presently seized in 
the same manner, and was also carried home. The pope recov- 
ered his senses after a time, but fell into a violent fever. He 
was blooded, and other medicines were employed ; but his 
strength gradually failing, he died on the eighth day.* His son 
had a long and seveie illness, but at length, through the strength 
of his constitution, recovered. So far we are guided by acknow- 
ledged fact. The secret part of the story relates, that some bot- 
tles of wine, drugged with a white powder like sugar, the usual 
poison employed by these miscreants, were sent from the pope's 
cellar to the villa, with private orders to the butler to serve it to 
such of the guests alone as should be pointed out to him. Tlie 
head butler being by chance absent when Alexander called for 
wine before supper, the under butler, knowing nothing of the 
contrivance, or thinking this marked wine the most precious, 
served it to the pope and his son. These circumstances are nei- 
ther in themselves very probable, nor does it appear howj if 
true, they should come to be publicly known. It is not likely 
that a man so politic as pope Alexander should, at the time he 
had formed great projects, for the execution of which it was ne- 
cessary to gain as many friends as possible, commit a crime 
vi^hich could not fail to be strongly suspected, and to raise the 
utmost odium against him. That fancy and fiction were busy on 
the occasion, appears from a marvellous tale related hy Tomasi, 
that the pope, who had constantly borne about him the holy sa- 
crament in a gold box (an astrologer having told him that it would 
preserve his lite from all dangers,) discovered on coming to the 
villa that he had left it at home, and sent in all haste for it, but 
had swallowed the fatal draught before the messenger returned. 
This messenger, too, who was a cardinal, is said to have seen in 
his holiness's chamber a vision, representing a dead pope extend- 
ed on a catafalc. Every judicious inquirer knows how much a 
mixture of incredible matter tends to discredit the other cir- 
cumstances of a narration. But in my opinion the strongest 
ground of unbelief in this story is, that the death may be ac- 
counted for another way, and that the incidents of the disease 



• The pope's chamberlain, Burchard, says, that he was attackeiJ by a fever on 
the 12ih, was let blood on the iCth, when the disorder appeared to become a ter- 
tian, and that he died on the 18th, The difference of date is probably owing to :> 
different reckoning of style. 



392 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

do not correspond with the supposition of poison. In the un- 
wholesome climate of Rome, the sudden cooling of the body at 
the close of a hot day by a large draught of cold liquor, is surely 
a very probable cause of an acute disease : and it appears, both 
from the express words of the writer, and from the treatment, 
that this disease was fever. The supposed poison, resembling 
sugar, was doubtless a preparation of arsenic; but its effects are 
not to excite fever, nor would bleeding be thought of as a reme- 
dy. If it were possible that any death of Alexander VI. should 
not be attributed to poison, the circumstances of this would seem 
as little suspicious as any mode in which he could die. It is 
true, the concomitant illness of his son renders tHe fact more 
singular ; but as the same natural cause operated on both, it is 
reasonable to suppose that the effects would be similar.* 



* P. S. Since this paper was written, I find from Mr. Roscoe's Life of Pope Leo. 
X., that Muratori has produced many authorities to refute the notion that Alexan- 
der VI. died of poison. The note from Burchard is transcribed from that valuable 

work. 



A WORD FOR PHILOSOPHY. 



UNFORTUNATE Philosophy ! not only to have retained the 
enmity of all her old foes, the tyrants and deceivers of mankind; 
but to have incurred the reproaches of many who in better days 
were well pleased to be regarded as her friends and coadjutors ! 
Perhaps, however, the prejudice conceived against her is begin- 
ning to subside ; at least, an inquiry how far the imputations un- 
der which she has laboured have been merited, may at this time 
hope for a patient hearing. 

Philosophy has been accused of contributing to the subver- 
sion of every thing sacred and venerable among men, of vilify- 
ing authority, insulting dignities, unsettling established customs 
and opinions, and substituting her own crudities and fallacies to 
the results of long experience. I have no doubt that her real 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 393 

influence has been greatly exaggerated, and that the bad pas- 
sions of mankind have been the true causes of the deplorable 
evils which the world has lately witnessed : but admitting that 
Philosophy has had her share in the work of destruction, let us 
calmly consider what were the things against which her batte- 
ries were erected. 

Politics and religion, the two master springs of human affairs, 
have both been touched by Philosophy, and, it must be acknow- 
ledged, with a free hand. She has been guilty, too, of what many 
seem to regard as an unpardonable offence — resorting to first 
principles in order to justify her attacks upon existing systems, 
and lay a foundation for proposed improvements. Thus, in the 
science of politics (to begin with that department) she has boldly 
assumed that men come into the world with rights — that the 
maintenance of these rights ought to be the great object of social 
institutions — that government was intended for the good of the 
whole, not the emolument of the few — that legitimate authority 
can have no other basis than general consent, for that force can 
never constitute right— that civil distinctions, originating from 
the agreement of society, always remain within the determina- 
tion of society — and that laws, in order to be just, must bear 
equally upon all. 

These principles have doubtless borne a hostile aspect towards 
the greater part of existing governments, which have supported 
themselves upon maxims so much the reverse; but has Philoso- 
phy urged the demolition of all such governments? Certainly 
not, unless she is identified with Fanaticism. It has been her 
invariable method first to recommend to the usurpers of undue 
authority to repair their wrongs by gradual concessions ; and 
secondly, to the sufferers under tyranny, to state their grievances 
in a quiet way, and patiently, though firmly, to expect redress. 
This she has done as the decided friend o^ peace; for Philosophy 
(and Philosophy alone ^ has been incessantly employed in lifting 
up her voice against war, that monstrous aggregate of all the 
evils, natural and moral, that conspire against human happiness. 
The works of all the writers, ancient and modern, who have me- 
rited the title of philosophers, may be confidently appealed to 
for their strenuous endeavours to correct the false opinions of 
men with respect to the glory of warriors and conquerors, and 
to inculcate the superior claims to admiration and gratitude ari- 
sing from the successful culture of the beneficent arts. 
3D 



394 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

Had, then, the dictates of Philosophy been equally listened to 
by the governors and governed, reforms might have been effect- 
ed by mutual agreement to the advantage of both, and a progress 
have been made towards that melloralion of the state of man- 
kind, vv^hich a philanthropist can never cease to have in view 
amidst all his disappointments. That such expectations have 
failed through the predominance of the selfish principle, com- 
bined with the impetuous and ungovernable character of a par- 
ticular nation, is not the fault of Philosophy. She held up a 
torch to point out the safest path to a necessary reformation, but 
incendiaries snatched it from her for the purposes of mischief. 
It is acknowledged that some of the evil proceeded from the 
fanaticism of her honest but deluded votaries ; but much more 
from those who disclaimed all connection with her. The most 
sanguinary tyrant of the French revolution was notoriously the 
ioQ to all mental cultivation, and obliterated the precepts of phi- 
losophy in the blood of its professors. And no one can suspect 
the man who now aims at uniting all Europe in the fetters of a 
military despotism, of an inclination to promote liberal discus- 
sions on the rights of man and the foundation of government. In 
point of fact, it appears that the sole European power that stea- 
dily resists the present tendency to an universal barbarism of 
civil polity, is that which is most enlightened by free investiga- 
tion, and in which alone Philosophy at this time possesses a pen 
and a tongue.* 

Whith respect, therefore, to the political system of the world. 
Philosophy (I mean of that kind which was chiefly prevalent in 
the latter half of the eighteenth century) may stand acquitted 
of any thing inimical to the true interest of mankind ; and what- 
ever improvements took place in the administration of the con- 
tinental governments of Europe during that period may fairly be 
ascribed to her influence. She promoted the enfranchisement 
of slaves and vassals, the relief of the lower orders from arbitra- 
ry and burthensome requisitions, the liberation of internal com- 
merce from impolitic restrictions, the encouragement of every 
species of useful industry, the melioration of laws, the abolition 



• This is said not with regard to all the acts of its occasional administrations, but 
to that public voice which, through ihe medinm of a free press, pronounces upon 
the principles and conduct, as well of its own government, as of those of other 
nations. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 395 

of cruel punishments and of judicial torture, and, above all, reli- 
gious toleration — which leads me to the second point, namely, 
the conduct of Philosophy with respect to religion. 

Here, again, it is proper to begin with inquiring what it was 
that Philosophy actually opposed under the appellation of reli- 
gion ; for nothing can be more unfair than to draw a picture of 
religion as it has existed only in a comparatively few philoso- 
phical minds, and then to display it as the object against v/hich 
Philosophy has aimed her shafts. A system of faith, the sole es- 
sentials of which should be a belief in the existence of a Supreme 
Being of infinite perfections, the moral governor and judge of 
mankind, and of a future state of rewards and punishments, 
would, I am persuaded, command the respect of every genuine 
philanthropist, who would rejoice in such a powerful support to 
morality, and such a consolation under the unavoidable evils of 
life, and prize it the more for the sanction of revelation. But 
where has national religion appeared under this simple aspect? 
Certainly not in those countries in which philosophers have been 
its adversaries. 

There cannot be a more copious source of error than to con- 
found under a common name, on account of an agreement in cer- 
tain particulars, things in their nature essentially different. To 
instance in the different sects which bear the general title of 
christian — though all referring to the same primary authority, it 
is scarcely possible to conceive of greater variations than subsist 
among them, both with relation to each other, and to the doc- 
trines of their common founder. Accuracy, therefore, requires 
that in speaking of them they should be specifically denominated, 
and not be grouped under a generical appellative. Thus it is rlHit 
to say, the religion of Rome, the religion of Ltdher, the religion of 
Calvin, and the like ; for the religion of Christ, will convey but 
a very inadequate idea of their several characters and tenets. 
Let us then see what that Roman religion was which peculiarly 
excited the enmity of what is called the French school of philo- 
sophy. 

It was a system which, in the first place, demanded the renun- 
ciation of all right of private judgment, and subjected the religi- 
ous opinions and practices of all the world to the determination 
of a foreign priest — which took from men the direction of their 
own consciences, and put it nto the hands of a cast, detached in 
all countries from their feUow subjects, and universally connec- 



396 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

ted by peculiar claims and interests — which uniformly discour- 
aged all inquiries and discussions tending, however remotely, to 
invalidate its own authority, and exacted implicit submission in 
all points on which it had thought fit to decide — which taught 
doctrines the most irreconcileable to reason and common sense, 
and enjoined observances the most trifling, degrading, and bur- 
thensome. It was a system, moreover, radically hostile to every 
other, spurning all community or accommodation, annexing ex- 
travagant ideas of merit to proselytism, and, therefore, when al- 
lied to power, infallibly leading to persecution : a system, the 
influence of which was traced in lines of blood through every page 
of modern history. Was it then no just object to the friends of 
reason and humanity to loosen the hold of such a religion upon 
the minds of men ? Was it not a necessary preliminary to every 
attempt for introducing substantial improvements in the coun- 
tries where it prevailed; and if, in the contest with a mass of 
opinion so powerfully supported, some things were necessarily 
endangered which were w orth preserving, was not the prize ade- 
quate to the hazard ? 

A consistent protestant cannot, certainly, dispute these con- 
clusions ; but he may blame philosophers for not fairly examin- 
ing Christianity at the source, and adopting it in such a form as 
shall approve itself to a rational inquirer. Before he does this, 
however, he must be prepared to admit that an inquiry conduct- 
ed upon such a principle justifies itself, whatever be the system 
in which it settles. He must renounce all anathematising denun- 
ciations ; disclaim any preference due to a particular system be- 
cause it is that of the state; and disavow any right of annexing 
penalties and privations to non-conformity to a predominant faith. 
Unless he agrees to these preliminaries, he is in effect no more a 
friend to free inquiry than the Romanist ; and when he urges 
examination, it is only upon the tacit condition that its result 
should be conversion to his own opinions. The philosopher who 
has thrown oft' the authority of a pope and council is not likely 
to yield to that of Luther or Calvin, a convocation or a synod. 

To conclude — Philosophy, understood in its proper sense of 
"the love of wisdom," or of truth (which is the same thing,) is 
the only principle to be relied on, not only for meliorating the 
state of the world, but for preventing a relapse to barbarism. If 
she be excluded from all guidance of human affairs, in whose 
hands shall it be placed ? — in those of Avarice, of Ambition, of 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 397 

Bigotry ? She may have had her moments of delirium, but she 
is essentially the votary of Reason, and possesses within herself 
the power of correcting her own errors. Policy, if she be not 
called in as a counsellor, degenerates into craft; and Religion, 
without her direction, into superstition. They who are afraid of 
her searching spirit, must be conscious of something that will not 
bear the light of investigation. They arc foes to the truth be- 
cause " the truth is not in them." 



ON CANT. 



Canfo qux solitus. Vikg. 

THE motto prefixed may serve as a kind of definition of mj 
subject ; for cant is, in reality, an accustomed formula of words 
employed on certain occasions— the chant or cry adopted by par* 
ties, sects or professions, repeated from habit or imitation, with- 
out any other design in the speaker than that of saying what has 
been usual in similar circumstances. The beggar in the street, 
who addresses passengers with "Heaven bless your Honour! 
Health and prosperity to you," &c. cannot be supposed to take 
any real interest in the welfare of those on whom he bestows his 
benedictions : he only uses the cant of his trade, and does not 
expect that it should be taken for more than it is worth. The 
same is the case with other canters. They employ habitual forms 
of speech, through a sort of bienseance, or regard to decorum, 
which the inexperienced may, indeed, if they please, take for 
earnest, but which no one conversant with the world considers 
as such. 

Cant, therefore, is different from hypocrisy, though, perhaps, 
originating from it, and though hypocrisy generally implies a 
cant. In the use of cant there is, doubtless, somewhat of an in- 
tention to appear in a favourable light to those to whom it is ad- 
dressed ; but this scarcely amounts to a serious purpose of decep- 
tion, and in some instances is totally free from it. Thus, when 
in the cant of politeness a man calls himself the devoted humble 
servant of another, he has no idea of being understood according 



398 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

to the literal sense of these words; he only wishes to be regard 
ed as a well bred man. Real hypocrisy seldom confines itsell 
to cant. On the contrary, an artful hypocrite will studiously 
avoid that phraseology which common use has rendered unmean- 
ing, and will perhaps seek for credit by afiiecting a blunt disre- 
gard of the ordinary forms of civility. 

The variety of cants is as great as that of the different condi- 
tions and callings of men. Some, however, stand pre-eminent 
on account of the frequency and solemnity with which they, are 
brought before the public. A brief notice of these, with their 
several characteristics, will form the subject of the present 
paper. 

Political cant is one of the most noted and prominent species; 
and notwithstanding the daily proofs of its inanity, it still ex- 
erts no small influence over the minds of the credulous and igno- 
rant. Each party in a state has its own appropriate cant ; and 
states employ a cant in their transactions with each other, which 
is regarded as common property. The public good is a common 
place equally belonging to all these cants, though variously mo- 
dified according to circumstances and situations. The monarch 
laments the necessity of laying additional burdens upon his dear 
subjects, but the public good imperiously demands such sacri- 
fices, which, however, he hopes, will not be of long duration : in 
the mean time he is resolved in his own mind not to abandon 
any scheme of ambition or cupidity in which he is engaged, 
whatever his dear subjects may suffer. These patriotic senti- 
ments are re-echoed in addresses from the people, expressive of 
the highest confidence in the wisdom and benevolence of the 
roval breast, though perhaps at the same time associations are 
forming for eff*ecting a compulsory change of measures. In these 
cases the language on each side passes with the experienced 
only as words of course, and no surprise is excited on finding 
not the least correspondence in actions. 

The cant of party delights to dwell on general terms. Thus 
the watch word with one is the constitution, with the other re- 
form, each knowing that by interpretation any thing or nothing 
can be made of either of these words. A very common cant of 
the party in power is to express a confident hope of unanimity, 
although they may be conscious that they have acquired their 
stations by fomenting as much as possible the spirit of division. 
A general election is the period at which, in this country, cant 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 599 

is most triumphant, filling the columns of every newspaper, and 
the walls of every empty house. Its basis is the shibboleth of 
each party, combined with the personal protestations of the in- 
dividual candidate. Thus, one in great letters parades his in- 
dependence ; another, his attachment to king and constitution ; 
a third, his zeal for t\\Q p^'otestant religion; while all agree in prof- 
fering the most active and disinterested services to their worthy 
constituents. In many of these cases, the mockery of profession 
is so gross, that one might suppose the writers had adopted the 
line of Horace, 

Virginibus puerisque canto. 

But the most dignified display of political cant is in the manifestos 
and memorials issued from belligerent courts. The most com 
prehensive philanthropy, the strictest adherence to good faith and 
the principles of public justice, and the most laudable spirit of 
moderation are assumed by all in turn, who avow no other wish 
than to stop the effusion of blood and restore the blessings of 
peace to mankind. The late Catherine of Russia was the most 
cofispicuous canter of her time, and was distinguished for the 
benevolence of her sentiments, and her frequent pious appeals to 
heaven for the sincerity of her declarations. At present the em- 
peror Napoleon seems to have taken her place, who, good man ! 
would live in perfect peace and quiet, had he not the misfortune 
of being surrounded with quarrelsome neighbours. It must, how- 
ever be acknowledged, that he is not the only imperial or royal 
proficient in this way. 

A particular species of the cant of sovereigns is that of prefa 
cingall their severe and tyrannical acts with self-applied epithets 
of justice and humanity. Thus, when the patriot Patkul was so 
cruelly sacrificed to the vengeance of Charles XII. of Sweden, 
an officer read the sentence in the following terms : " It is here- 
by made known to be the express order of his majesty, our most 
mercifid sovereign, that this man, who is a traitor to his country, 
be broken upon the wheel and quartered,'' &c. " What mercy!" 
exclaimed the poor criminal. In like manner, those theologians 
who maintain that the great majority of mankind were created 
for the deliberate purpose of being consigned to everlasting tor- 
ments, usually couple their horrid doctrine with solemn asser- 
tions of the infinite goodness of the Creator. The humane court 
of Inquisition is remarkable for a cant of this kind, and it never 



400 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

submits a culprit to the torture without expressing the tenderest 
concern for his temporal and eternal welfare. 

The cunt of religion has, if possible, played a greater part on 
the theatre of the world than that of politics ; indeed, with a large 
proportion of mankind, religion has always been nothing more 
than a cant. This may be safely predicated of all those who, 
while they have it continually in their mouths, are never sway- 
ed by its precepts in any action of their lives in which their 
worldly interest is concerned. No sect has a right to reproach 
another on this head : they are all 

Etcantare pares, et respondere parati. 

If powerful establishments seem on one hand to have less motive 
for canting than their weaker rivals, as being less dependent on 
public opinion ; on the other, the consciousness of exciting envy 
by their opulence and high pretentions operates to inspire them 
with the cant of humility and moderation. The haughtiest priest 
that the world ever saw assumed the title of "the servant of the 
servants of God,'' at a time when he expected that kings and 
emperors should kiss his toe and hold his stirrup. In countries 
where the civil authority has so far prevailed over the ecclesias- 
tical as to enforce a political toleration of different religions, it 
is curious to remark how the predominant sect has accommodat- 
ed a cant to its situation. " God forbid that they should think 
of forcing men's consciences, or denying to any of their brethren 
the right of private judgment !" All who dissent from them are 
to be sure, in the wrong, and their blindness and perversity are 
to be lamented; but they disclaim all methods of bringing back 
the stray sheep into the fold, except those of lenity and persua- 
sion. Meantime they do not hesitate to hold up the separatists 
to the hatred and reproach of their fellow subjects as guilty of 
the heinous sin of schism ; and they strenuously support every 
unjust and impolitic restriction which ancient prejudice has im- 
posed upon them. Such a church boasts of being tolerant, that 
is, of enduring what it cannot prevent. It may surely be affirm- 
ed that toleration in this sense is a mere cant word. 

Religious cant displays itself in nothing more than in the prac- 
tice of calling in Providence on all occasions. I am sufficiently 
aware that a real belief of providential interferences in cases of 
importance has pervaded all faiths, nor do I mean to censure the 
pious application of it, whatever may be my opinion of the just- 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 401 

ness of such application. But when Te Deum is ordered to be 
sung by both parties after a dubious battle, manifestly for the 
purpose of raising the spirits of a desponding people ; or when 
the most trivial incidents are construed into proofs of the 
divine favour by an itinerant fanatic ; who does not recognise 
the cant of hypocrisy? In the lime of Cromwell, when the 
language of piety was that of every department in the state, 
we may be well assured that in many cases it was nothing more 
than a cant. No where did it prevail more than in the army. 
A commander, who from good intelligence had marched a troop 
of horse to surprise the enemy's quarters, in his despatches pre- 
tended to have had an answer to his prayers instigating him to 
the attempt. A council of war always began business with seek- 
ing the Lord for direction, while the general had in his pocket 
the plan of operations which he had concerted with his confiden- 
tial officers. The Scotch preachers who compelled old Leven 
to quit his strong post at Dunbar in the confidence of a victory 
promised to their prayers, were honest enthusiasts ; but Crom- 
well, when he exclaimed, at the enemy's approach, " The Lord 
has delivered them into our hands," well knew that he had long 
been employing all his artifice to bring them to this resolution. 

Moral cant, at least till lately, was become more fashionable 
in this country than religious cant; and to this head I fear must 
be referred much of the pure and refined sentiment with which 
the public are treated on various occasions. Thus, the solemn 
and pathetic lectures on morality which are delivered at the bar 
in trials of crim. con., or for other flagrant violations of the laws 
of virtue, can scarcely avoid this designation, when it is known 
that a prior fee would have secured all the speaker's eloquence 
to the opposite party. I dare not affirm that the zeal manifest- 
ed in the senate against corruption and public abuses is a cant ; 
although, when we find the same orators when in place entirely 
forgetting their former language, and defending the very enor- 
mities against which they had so loudly declaimed, we must con- 
clude either that some extraordinary process of conviction has 
suddenly taken place in their minds, or that they were merely 
before reciting a part in the drama of opposition. The cant of 
sentimentality, which is a kind of sickly and overstrained mora- 
lity, may be mentioned under this head. Its most copious source 
is in plays and novels. Sterne was one of those who dealt most 
largely in this commodity and brought it into fashion. He had 
SE 



40£ MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

a crowd of imitators, who, as usual, exaggerated their original, 
and carried the affectation of tine feeling to the borders of bur- 
lesque. On the stage the comedies termed sentimental gave the 
tone, which is still followed by our modern dramatists, but with 
the addition of caricature, and a most unnatural combination of 
qualities, so that nothing is now more common among the dra- 
matis personse than generous sharpers and benevolent banditti- 
The public kindly applauds all the cant put into the mouths of 
these wortliies, while the authors laugh and fill their pockets. 

Of other cants, that of authorship is not one of the least con- 
spicuous. A versifier, who with infinite pains has strung toge- 
ther a parcel of rhymes, which, after every preliminary of ob- 
lique puffing, he gives to the public, aiFects to regai'd his per- 
iormances as mere trifles, composed for his private amusement, 
and without the most distant view to fame. " Nos heec novimus 
esse nihil." " His indulgent friends have been pleased to think 
them worthy of the light, otherwise he should have condemned 
them to merited obscurity. Some pieces, indeed, had already 
got into print without his knowledge, and his principal object is. 
to give in a more correct form what he could not recall." 

Even Pope was not above this kind of cant. Though more a 
poet by profession than most of the versifying tribe, one of his 
favourite topics in his letters, as Dr. Johnson observes, is an af- 
fected disparagement of his own poetry. He writes, he says, 
" when he has just nothing else to do." He constantly pretends 
the utmost insensibility to censure and criticism, and yet com- 
posed the Dunciad. The same indifference is affected at the 
present day by many, who ar^ in agonies on opening a review\ 
As to the cant of pretending to write for the public good, since 
it has been assumed by every compiler who works by the sheet 
with the aid of paste and scissars, creditable authors have scarcely 
ventured to use it. 

Criticism itself has its cant, of which one of the most provok- 
ing instances to a poor condemned author is the affected excla- 
mation of hardship and misery on the part of the critic, in being 
obliged to drudge through the wretched stuff" that every month 
obtrudes upon the public, though without such stuff" our periodi- 
cal censors would not have an existence. The royal pronoun we, 
the fiction of a board of greybeards sitting in solemn judgment 
round a table, and the assumed dignity of an office, frequently 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 403 

the self-creation of conceit and inexperience, are other examples 
of tiie cant belonging to the critical trade. 

There is no species of cant so strongly marked by a jargon of 
peculiar phraseology as that of connoisseurship in the fine arts. 
The connoisseur's vocabulai'y is besprinkled with a number of 
indefinite and metaphorical terms, which convey no precise ideas 
to proficients themselves, who are found widely to differ in their 
application of them to different performances. Their chief pur- 
pose seems to be to furnish with a set of knowing phrases those 
who think themselves obliged to talk about a thing, whether they 
have any clear conceptions of it or not. 

I shall not lengthen this paper by enumerating the several 
kinds of professional cant, of which the essence is a speciousness 
and pretence originally adopted for the purpose of deception, but 
continued througli habit and established form, like the lawyer's 
wig and the clergyman's cassock. This may have its use in the 
common intercourse of society, yet it will always be disdained 
■'by commanding talents and high-spirited integrity. 



ON MOTTOES. 



THE application of passages from eminent authors, by way of 
luthority, illustration or ornament, has been a very ancient prac- 
tice, and in modern times has become a custom which, like all 
prevalent customs, has often deviated into excess. At the revi- 
val of literature, when it was the chief object with men of letters 
to display the extent of their reading, scarcely any work appear- 
ed without a multiplicity of decoration of this kind. Not a pam- 
phlet was published without its mottoes in Greek and Latin, and 
not a sentiment, however trivial, was hazarded without confir- 
mation by parallel sentences from the ancients. The pedantry 
of this practice at length became an object of ridicule. It is 
certain, however, that the moderate use of quotation, when di- 
rected by judgment and taste, has been at all times agreeable to 
cultivated readers, who have received from it the double plea- 
sure of unexpectedly meeting with passages which they have ad- 



404 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

mired in their proper places, and of seeing them happily intro- 
duced in new connections. 

It is not my intention in the present paper to speak gene- 
rally of quotations, but only of that species of them which are pe- 
culiarly called mottoes. These are short sentences, either pre- 
fixed to books, or inscribed on portraits, coats of arms, edifices, 
devices, and the like, which serve as beads or titles indicating 
the essential character, object or design. The French have a 
happy term to express the motto to a device or emblem ; they 
call it Vamc, the sonl. In fact, a well chosen motto contains the 
spirit or essence of thing to which it is applied. 

There are two different modes of application of these quoted 
passages, which divide them into two distinct classes. In the 
first the author's words are taken in their proper sense; in the 
second, they are allusively employed, and transferred to a dif- 
ferent meaning. Of the first, the excellence consists in the ner- 
vous and pointed expression of the thought which it is intended 
to enforce : the beauty of the second depends upon starting some 
unexpected but exact resemblance, which surprises by the inge- 
nuity of the application. Examples shall be given to illustrate 
this distinction, which it is hoped, may afford some entertain- 
ment to the classical reader, whatever be thought of the intro- 
ductory matter. Those of the first class will take the lead. 

A variety of mottoes have been inscribed on clocks and sun- 
dials, with the intention of warning the spectator of the unheed- 
ed lapse of time. I recollect none superior in energy to the two 
following, afforded by Seneca's Epistles. " Inscii rapimur." 
"Nisi properamus, relinquimur." The English language is so 
inferior in conciseness to the Latin, that no adequate version can 
be given ; but we might say, " Time whirls us on unfelt." " Haste, 
or you stay behind." 

The same author gives in three words what would serve for a 
striking sentence on a tomb stone, " Abstulit, sed dedit :" the 
words are similar to those of Job, " The Lord gave, and the Lord 
hath taken away," which is simply pious resignation ; but Sene- 
ca, who applies them to Fortune, has a different meaning, " She 
has taken away, but she first gave" — and the lesson is, " Remem- 
ber that you have enjoyed what you now lament to have lost." 
By the substitution of Deity to Fortune, it would become pious 
as well as philosophical. 

What Seneca says of certain frivolous and useless modes of 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 405 

sophistical reasoning in his time, would not unaptly apply to the 
modern subtleties of metaphysicians: "Nee ignoranti nocent, 
nee scientem juvant:" "Ignorance of them does no harm, and 
knowledge no good :" which is not quite so satirical as a line on 
logicians, quoted by Guy Patin, 

Gens ratione furens, et mentem pasta chimajris. 

A political writer meaning to reproach a nation for its readi- 
ness to plunge into war upon any view of profit, might adopt this 
sentence from Livy, " Maxime omnium belli avida, modo praeda 
aut merces esset." On the other hand, he might apply to an un- 
feeling despot, who had involved his country in a war destruc- 
tive to himself and his subjects, these lines from Statins : 

Tu merito : ast horum miseret, quos sanguine vile^ 
Conjugibus natisque infanda ad pr^Iia raptos 
Prqjicis excidio, bone rex ! 

Unpltied thou ! but these deserve a tear. 

Who, with their wives and babes, a race despised, 

By thee are thrust to slaughter — best of kings ! 

An incapable minister, whose presumption has led him to as- 
sume the direction of the state in a time of danger, which is ten- 
fold augmented by his own rashness and ignorance, could not be 
more forcibly imaged than in the following simile applied by Si- 
lius Italicus to the consul Flaminius in the second Punic war ; 

Ut pelagi rudis, et pontem tractare per artem 
Neseius, accepit misei x si jura carinie 
Veutoruiti tenet ipse vicero, cunctisque procellis 
Dat jactare ratem ; fertur vaga gurgite puppis, 
Ipsius in scopulos dextra impellcnte magistii. 

As he who takes a hapless vessel's helm. 
New to the sea, nor taught the pilot's art, 
Does the storm's office, gives the bark a sport 
To every adverse gale ; wide o'er the main 
She flies, his own rash hand amid the rocks 
Steering her fatal course. 

It would be an elegant compliment to apply to a master of 
one of our great schools the lines which Statius in his Sylvae ad- 
dresses to a person of the same profession. 



Et nunc ex illo forsan grege gentibus alter 
Jura datEois, alter compescit Iberos ; 



4U6 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 

Hi dites Asiie i);ipulos, hi Pomica frsenant, 
Hi fora pacificis emeiidant t'ascibus, illi 
Castra [liu statione tenent : tu laudis origo. 

And now, p('rchance, amid the studious flock, 
One to the Easi gives law, one rules thr West ; 
These the rich Asian tribes, the Pontic these 
O'erawe ; in peaceful courts their wholesome sway 
These exercise, while those in watchful eannps 
Their sacred couotry gpard — tliiue a)l their praise ! 

These examples, which, perliaps, will have the merit of novel- 
jy to most readers, may suffice for the first class of mottoes. 
Of the second, the following instances may be given : 

There is not, 1 think, in all Shakespear a passage of greater 
poetical beauty than that in which Prospero describes the gra- 
dual return of reason in those who had been bewildered by his 
magic. How finely would it apply to the progress of light and 
knowledge succeeding an age of ignorance and superstition ! 

The charm dissolves apace ; 
And as the morning steals upon the night. 
Melting the darkness ; so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their clearer reason. 

A modest writer in Natural Plistory or Natural Philosophy 
might adopt for his motto the reply of a soothsayer in Antony 
and Cleopatra, when questioned concerning his knowledge. 

In Nature's infinite book of secrcsy 
A little I can read. 

I once saw in an edition of Pope's works a line from Ovid 
happil}' prefixed in manuscript to the epistle of Eloisa to Abe- 
lard. It is taken from the Fasti, where the poet describes the 
■conflagration of the temple of Vesta; 

Mistaque erat flaminte flainma profana pix : 
Mixed with a holy flame, a flame profane. 

The same hand, to a list of orders of knighthood had written, 
from Banquo's remark on the witches in Macbeth, 

The earth has bubbles as the water hath, 
An<l these are of them. 

The cause of the ascent of an air-balloon might be very aptly 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 407 

expressed in the words which Ovid applies to the vapor that 
arose from the body of Memnon on the funeral pile, and wa? 
changed into birds ; 

Levi(:issu» prrebuit alas. 
Its lightness gave it wings : 

and the aeronaut himself might appropriate the words of Per- 
seus in the Metamorphosis, when descending at the court of 
^ Scythia from his aerial flight, 

Veni net puppR per undas, 
Xec pede per terras : paluit miiii pervius sether, 

Nor cross the st-a, nor o'er the laud I cafne ; 
My open path was through the yielding sky. 

. vl am conscious that all these arc only the trifles of literature; 
out they are agreeable trifles, and afford no contemptible exer- 
cise for ingenuity ; while other things, equally trifling, only ex- 
ercise industry. One of the most distinguished among modern 
literary societies was the French Academy of Inscriptions and 
Belles Lettres, the original object of which was to invent devices 
and suitable inscriptions for commemorating the glories of the 
reign of Lous XIV. The purpose was adulatory, but the insti- 
tution gave birth to many ingenious ideas. That the discovery 
and application of mottoes is no trivial task, may be inferred 
from the paltry quibbles that disgrace the arms of many of our 
nobility, and which may, indeed, prove the antiquity of their fa- 
milies, but indicate the taste of a barbarous age. I am not fond 
of suggesting new places, or I would propose that some ingeni- 
ous scholar should be appointed motto master to the Heralds' 
college. The many parvenus who would wish to wear their 
blushing honours with every graceful decoration, might provide 
a competent salary for such an oflice. 



i 



APPENDIX. 

(A. p. 28.) 
DESCRIPTIONS OF VEGETABLES 

FROM 

THE ROMAN POETS. 



IT has been remarked by various critics, that modern poets 
have in general been much inferior to the ancient, in the truth 
and accuracy of their descriptions of natural objects. The ver- 
sifiers of later ages, deriving their art merely from imitation 
have fallen into a kind of established phraseology in their dic- 
tion, which, while it cuts off all novelty of imagery, exposes the 
the writer to perpetual mistakes, from the application of epithets 
and descriptions according to memory, or the rules of measure, 
rather than the observation of nature. Those, on the other hand, 
who were nearer to the original sources of poetical ornament, sel- 
dom fail to paint objects in their genuine colours, even though 
they may be unskilful in the employment and disposition of them. 
Of this we have a striking instance in the similes of Homer, 
which, taken separately, are always just and lively pictures, 
though frequently they have little resen)blance to the object to 
which they are applied. The number of these drawn from the 
vegetable creation is very small ; while Virgil and the other Ro- 
man poets, probably from living in a more cultivated state of 
society, seem particularly fond of introducing trees and other 
plants into the imagery of their pieces. From a peculiar atten- 
tion to this subject, I became so struck with the beauty and ac- 
curacy with which they had painted some of my favourite objects, 
that 1 was led to collect the passages, and to form from them a 
3 F 



410 APPENDIX. 

set of connected poetical descriptions. Some of these it is my 
intention to offer to the reader. 

QuERcus— The Oak. 

One of the noblest objects in the rural landscape, and a fine 
image for comparison on various heroical occasions. 

The height of the oak is referred to by Virgil in the iEneid, 
where, describing the appearance of the Cyclopses on the shore, 
he says, 

qnales cum vertice celso 

Aerite qxiercits aut coniferas cypaiissi 

Constiteiunt, sylva alta Jovis, lucusve Diana. — JEn. iii. 079. 

So on some mountain towers the lofty grove 
Of beauteous Diati, or imperial Jove : 
The aei-iat pirn s in pointed spires from far, 
Or spreading oaks majestic nod in air. — Pitt. 

And probably it is on account of the same quality, that he se- 
lects this tree in particular as suffering from the stroke of light 
ning. 

De coelo tactas memini pi tedicere ^wern/s. — Eel. i. 17. 

And heaven's quick liglUning on my blasted oak. 

Wartow. 

The wide spread of its branches is strongly painted by the same 
poet in the following passage : 

Sicubi magna Jovis antique robore qiiercus 

Ingentes tendat ramos. — Georg. iii. 332. 

Where some tall oak uprears his aged shades. — Pitt. 

Ovid on the same account calls the oak 

patula Jovis arbor. — Met. i. lOG. 

Jove's far extended tree ; 

an epithet lost in Dryden's version, whose paraphrase is. 

And falling acorns furnish'd out a feast. 

Catullus compares the tossing horns of the Minatour to the 
agitated arms of an oak : 

velut in summo quatientem brachia tauio 

Quercura.— ClTUi,. iKiii. 105. 



APPENDIX. 411 

Several passages in the poets describe the hardness of its wood. 
Thus Ovid in the long string of similes which Polyphemus ap- 
plies to Galatea, makes him call her 

(lurior annosa quercii. — JMct. xiii. 799. 

— far more stubborn than the knotted oak. — Dhtden. 

And Virgil describes the operation of splitting an oak, in a line 
4hat cannot be read without a degree of eflfort : 

Quathifidam qnevcum cuneis ut forte coactis 
Scindebat. — ^En. vii. 509. 

Tjrihus, who clove a tree with many a stroke, 
Left the huge wedge within the gaping oak. — Pitt. 

Its power of resisting the fury of a storm, from its strength, 
and the depth to which its roots penetrate, is nobly represented 
in the following simile : 

Veluti annoso validam cum robore quercum 
Alpini Borex, nunc hinc, nunc flatibus illinc 
Eruere inter se eertant : it stridor, et aite 
(Jonsternuut terram concusso stipite frondes ; 
Ipsa hieret scopulis ; et tjuantum vertice ad auras 
iEtherias, tantum radice in Tartara tendit. — ./£«. iv. 441. 

As o'er ih' aerial Alps sublimely spread. 
Some aged oak uprears his reverend head ; 
This way and that the furious tempests blow, 
And lay the monarch of the mountains low ; 
Th' imperial plant, though nodding at the sound, 
Though all his scatter'd honours strow the ground ; 
Safe in his strength, and seated on the rock. 
In naked majesty defies the shock. 
High as the head shoots towering to the skies, 
So deep the root in hell's foundation lies. — Pitt. 

Ovid seems to labour to equal or excel the grandeur of this 
description by a picture of the oak in peaceful majesty, distin- 
guished by its vast bulk, and the almost divine honours which 
have at various times been paid to it. 

Stabat in his ingens annoso robore quercus ,- • 
Una nemus; vittffi mediam, menioresque tabellse, 
Certaque cingebant voti argumenla potentis. 
Sxpe sub hac Dryades festas duxere choroeas : 
Ssepe etiam, manibus nexis ex ordine, trunci 
Circuiere modum : raensuraque roboris ulnas 



412 APPENDIX. 

Qiiiiiqiie lev im])lebat : necnon et cffilera tanto 
Sylva sub hac, sjiva quanto jacet herba sub omni. 

3Iet. viii. 743. 

An ancient oak in the dark centre stood, 

The covert's glory, and itself a wood ; 

Garlands embraced its shaft, and from the boughs 

Hung tablets, monuments of prosperous vows. 

In the cool dusk its unpierced verdure spread, 

The Dryads oft tlieir hallowed dances led ; 

And oft when round their guaging arms they cast, 

Full fifteen ells it measured in the waste ; 

Its height all under standards did surpass, 

As they aspired above the humbler grass. — Diiyden. 

The bold expression " una nemus," itself a grove, would scarce- 
ly apply to any other European tree, and is-therefore equally ap- 
propriate and poetical. 

Lucan has given a picture of the oak at a different period ; no 
longer firm and stable, but decayed with age and ready to fall 
with the first blast, yet still appearing great and venerable, and 
forming a shade, though with its naked branches. Its applica- 
tion as a simile is not less happy, than the description is striking. 
It is made an emblem of Pompey the Great, at the commence- 
ment of the civil war, with all his honours still about him, yet 
in reality, only the shadow of his former greatness. 

Exuvias veteres populi, sacrataque gestans 
Dona dncnm ; nee jam validis radicibushserens, 
Pondt-re fixa suo est; nudosque per aera ramos 
Effundens, trunco, non frondibus, efficit umbrara : 
Sed quamvis primo nutet casura sub Euro, 
Tot circum sylva firmo se robore toUant, 
Sola tamen colitur. — Phars. i. 37. 

So in the field with Ceres' bounty spread, 
Uprearssome mighty oak his reverend head ; 
Chaplets and sacred gifts his boughs adorn, 
And spoils of war by mighty heroes worn. 
But the first vigour of his root now gone. 
He stands dependent on his weight alone ; 
All bare his naked branches are display'd. 
And with his leafless trunk he forms a shade : 
Yet though the winds his ruin daily threat. 
As every blast would heave him from his seat ; 
Though thousand fairer trees the field supplies 
Thai rich in youthful verdure round him rise ; 
Pix'd in his ancient state he yields to none_. 
And wears the honourc of the grove alone. 



APPENDIX. 413 

The martial character (as it may be termed) of this tree, pro- 
bably occasioned it to be used as the basis for trophies ; the cap- 
tured arms of the foe being hung on an oaken trunk. Thus 
iKneas raises a trophy of the arms of Mezentius in honour of the 
God of War : 

Ingeiitem querciimHeciais undique ramis 
Constituit tuniulo. — ..E?i. xi. 5. 

And bared an oak of all her verdant boughs. — Pitt. 

The use of the /rMz7 of the oak as an article of food in the 
early ages of the world is alluded to in almost innumerable pas- 
sages of the poets. There were several kinds of glandes, but 
those ol the oak, by us termed acorns, were preferred for the 
use of man. This we learn from Pliny ; and might also infer 
from a line in Virgil, in which he threatens the negligent hus- 
bandman with being compelled again to shake the oak for his 
subsistence. 

Concussaque famem in sjlvis solabere quercu. — Georg. i, 159. 
Thou'lt shake from forest oaks thy tasteless food. — WinToN. 

Ulmus — The Elm. 

This stately tree was too beautiful and striking an object 
among the inhabitants of the grove to be neglected by the poets. 
One of its most obvious and distinguishing characters is extra- 
ordinary loftiness. Hence Virgil, in his first eclogue, introduces 
it with a suitable epithet, and with peculiar propriety repre- 
sents the shy and plaintive turtle as making her seat on its 
summit. 

Nee gemere aeria cessabit turtur ab ubno. — Ed. i. 59. 
Nor turtles from th' aerial elm to plain. — Wahton. 

In another place he finely paints the effect of a scorching heat 
by the circumstance of the bark withering on the tall elm : a 
very natural consequence of the great height to which the sap 
must ascend for its sustenance. 

Nee si, cum moriens alta liber aret in xtlmo, 

JPA\\\o\}\im verseraus oves sub sidere Caucri.—JEc^ x. 67, 



414 APPENDIX. 

While the bark withers on. the loftv elm, 

We feed an ^thiops' flock 'mid Cancer's beams. 

A minute attention to propriety is scarcely any where more 
conspicuous in this great poet, than in the choice he makes of 
the elm for the tree on which to fix a mark for the javelin. The 
height and straightness of its trunk, and its freedom from 
branches, according to the usual mode of training it^ rendered it 
the fittest that could be pitched upon for this purpose. 

— ^pecorisque magistris 

Velocis jaculi certamina ponit in vlmo.— Georg. ii. 530, 

And places for the masters of the flock, 
On some high elm the rapid javelin's mark. 

From the manner of growth of this tree, its use for the sup- 
port of the weak and curling vine was universally deduced; nor 
is any rural circumstance more frequently alluded to by the 
poets, in simile or description. Some instances of this will 
hereafter be quoted, under the article Vine ; it may now be suffi- 
cient to remark, that Virgil selects the junction of the elm and 
vine as the discriminating topic of one whole book of his 
Georgics. 



■ quo sidere terram 



Vertere, Msecenas, ulmisque adjangere vites, 
Conveniat. — Georg. i. 1. 

Beneath what heavenly signs the glebe to turn. 

Round the tall elm how circling vines to lead. — WaRton . 

A distinguishing property of the elm, its increasing by means 
of a thick crop of suckers pushed up from the roots, is noticed by 
Virgil. 

Pullulat ab radice aliis densissima sylva. — Georg. ii. 17. 

Some from the root a rising wood disclose : 

Thus elms, and thus the savage cherry grows. — Dbtdev. 

One of the uses to which the elm was applied, with the pecu- 
liar manner of fitting it for that purpose, is mentioned by the 
same writer : 

Continuo in sylvis magna vi flexa domatur 

In burim, et curvi formam accipit iilmus aratri. — Georg. i. 169. 



APPENDIX; 415 

Young elms with early force in copses bow, 

Fit for the figure of the crooked plough. — Drtdex. 

The expression of magna vi flexa, "bent by great force,'' 
seems to denote great strength and toughness of the wood ; and 
in another place Virgil characterises the elm by the epithet 
fortis, where he tells us, too, that there were several species of 
this tree : 

PrKterea genus baud unum, nee fortibus uhnis. — Georg. ii. 83, 
Besides not one the kind of sturdy elms. 

This poet slightly touches upon another use of the elm, which 
is not intelligible without the aid of the agricultural writers. He 

says, 

Viminibus salices fcecundse, frondibua ulmi.— Georj". ii. 446. 
Willows in twigs are fruitful, elms in leaves. — DntDEN. 

Cattle we learn were fed with the leaves of elms, which were 
a most agreeable repast to them ; and Mr. Evelyn mentions the 
same practice as prevailing in some parts of this country in his 
time. 

The elm in its natural state of a wide spreading shady tree, 
is pitched upon by Virgil as the roosting place of dreams in 
Orcus : 

In medio ramos anuosaque brachia pandit 

Ulmus opaca, ingens : quura sedem sotunia vulgo 

Vana tenere ferunt, foliisque sub omnibus hserent. — ,^n. vi. 2S2.. 

Full in the midst a spreading elm display'd 

His aged arms, and cast a mighty shade ; 

Each trembling leaf with some light vision teems. 

And heaves impregnated with airy dreams. — Prrx, 

This kind of tree was probably here chosen, not only for its 
closeness and multitude of leaves, but also as one of those which 
by the ancients were reckoned barren, and therefore of the fune- 
real and ill omened class ; on which principle it was usually 
planted round tombs. 

Ilex— The Holm Oak. 
The Ilex is another glandiferous tree, differing, according io 



416 APPENDIX. 

Pliny, from the Oak, in having leaves serrated, and like those of 
the Bay, and in bearing smaller acorns. Ovid peculiarly marks 
it as a glandiferous tree, and as being very fertile : 

— — curvataque glandibus ilex. — Met. x. 94. 



The holm-oak bent with mast. 

It appears to have been a very common species in Italy, and 
that of which woods and groves were chiefly composed. The 
poets usually add to it the epithet of niger, which corresponds 
with the dark hue common to all evergreens, of which this is one 
Thus Virgil, 

Hice sub nigra palentes ruminatherbas. — Ec. vi. 54. 
Chews the pale herbs beneath the dusky holm. 



— — — i nigrum 

Jlicibus crebris sacra nemus adcubet umbra. — Georg. iii. 334, 

Or where the ilex forest dark and deep 

Sheds holy horrors o'er the hanging steep. — Pitt. 

Sylva fuit late dumis atque ilice nigra.— ^ra. ix. 381. 
Horrid the wood wide spread with tangled brakes 
And ilex dark. 

Horace adds to this quality, those of hardiness and vigorous 
vegetation, and even selects it for a comparison with the noble 
character of the Roman people : 

Duris utjVeartonsa bipennibus 
Njgroe feraci frondis in Algido, 

Per darana, percsedesab ipso 

Ducit opes animumque ferro. — Carm. iv, 4. 57. 

As the black ilex, shorn by vigorous steel. 

Sprouts on the mountain's verdant side ; 

Fi-ona wounds, from deaths, no dread, no loss they feel. 

But grow in strength, and rise in pride. 

It appears however that the wood of the Ilex was much sub- 
ject to decay ; for the epithet " hollow" is particularly applied 
to it by Virgil : 

cava prsedixit ab ilice comic. — JSc» i. 18. 

With boding croaks the hollow ilex rung. 

And this he confirms by the observation that bees frequently 
made their hives in its cavities. 



APPENDIX. 417 

" ' apes examina conrlunt 
Corticibusque cavis, y'ltiosxque ilicis alveo. — Georg. ii. 452. 

In lioliow bark tlie bees their offspring hide, 
Ainl in tlie moulilering holm-oak's vacant side. 

This remark sliows the pfopriety of particularising the Ilex in 
-ne two following passages : 

Mella cava manant ex ilice. — Hon. Epod. \v\. 47. 
Flavaque de viridi stillabant ilice mella. — Ovii). Met. i. 112. 

From the green ilex yellow honey flowed. 

I confess, however, that these lines have the air of that poeti- 
al phraseology for which I have censured the modern poets. 

This tree probably delighted in a rocky soil, and the neigh- 
bourhood of water ; for Horace describes it as overshadowing the 
-ource of his sweet fountain Blandusia. 

Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium, 
Me dicente cavis irapositam ilicem 

Saxis, unde loquaces 

Lymphx desiliunt tux.— Carm. iii. 13, 1.3. 

Soon shait thou flow a noble spring. 

While in immortal verse I sing 

The trees that spread the rocks around 

From whence thy prattling waters bound. — Fhancis, 

The peculiar species of tree is lost in this translation. 
With respect to its ceconomical uses, we learn from Virgil that 
troughs for water were made of this wood. 

Currentem ilig7iis potare canalibus undam,— Geo r§". iii. 330. 
From troughs of ilex made to drink the stream. 

And that it w^as particularly used for the construction of funeral 
pyres. 

Erecta ingenti (pyra,) tsedis atque ilice secta. — ^n. iv. 505. 
A mighty pyre of fir and holm. 

We learn moreover from Horace, that the finest flavoured wild 
boars were those fed on the acorns of the Ilex. 

Umber, et iligna nutritus glande rotundas 

Curvet aper lances camera vitantis inertem.— /Sa^ ii. 4. 40, 

3 G 



418 APPENDIX. 

The boar from Urabria, fed with ilex-mast, 
Shall load his dish who hates a vapid taste. 

Fagus — The Beech. 

There is no doubt, from Pliny's description, that the Fagus ot 
the Romans was our Beech ; and few as the circumstances are 
which the poets have mentioned relative to this tree, they are 
yet sufficient to mark it with tolerable precision. 

The thickness of its foliage, and wide spreading of its branches, 
which invited the shepherds of Italy to repose beneath its shade 
during the heats of noon, are twice introduced into the beautiful 
scenery of Virgil's Eclogues. 

Tityre, tu patulse recubans sub tegmineyii^i, 
Sylvestiem teuui musam meditaris avena. — He. i. 1. 

Beneath the shade which beechen boughs diffuse, 
You, Tilyrus, entertain your sylvan muse. — Dkidkn. 

Tantum inter densas, umbrosa cacumina, ya§-os 
Assidue veniebat. — Ec. ii. 3. 

'Midst shades of thickest beech he pined alone. — Wauton. 

The use of its smooth and green bark for receiving inscrip- 
tions from the sylvan pen of lovers (as Thomson calls it) is no- 
ticed by the same poet. 

Imo hrec, in viridi nuper qua corticeya^j 
Carmina descripsi, at modulans alterna notavi, 
Experiar. — Ec. v. 13. 

Rather I'll try those verses to repeat 
Which on a beech's verdant bark I writ : 
I writ and sung between. — Warton. 

Ovid refers to the same custom ; and adds the beautiful thought 
o.f the name of the fair one growing and spreading with the growth 
of the tree. 

Incisje servant a te mea nominayVi^, 

Et legor CEnone, falce notata tua. 
Et quantum trunci, tantum mea nomina crescunt : 

Crescite, et in titulos surgite recta meos. — Ep. (Enon. Pa?'. 21. 

The beeches, faithful guardians of your flame. 
Bear on their wounded trunks CEnone's name. 
And 9s the trunks, so still the letters grow : 
Spread on ; and fair aloft my titles show. 



APPENDIX. 419 

The wood of the beech was used formerly, as at present, by the 
turner; and vessels made of it were considered as suited to the 
simplicity of the pastoral times. 

_— _ — nee bella fuerunt, 

Faginus adstabat cum scjphus ante dapes. — Tibdl. i. U. 
nor vagt'd the sword, 



When beeclieii bowls stood on tbe frusal board. 



Yet this cheap material was capable of receiving a considera- 
ble value from the hand of the carver. Thus Virgil's shepherd 
stakes a cup of this sort as one of his most valuable possessions. 



pocula ponam 



Fa^na, coglatum diviiii opus Alcimedontis. — Fd. iii. 36. 

Two beauteous bowis of beechen wood are mine, 
The sculpture of Alciraedou divine. — Wauton. 

Beech timber, as we learn from Virgil, was likewise employed 
in the construction of ploughs ; and though the passage is not 
very clear, it would seem that the stiva, or plough-staff, was made 
of this wood. 

Cxditur et tilia ante jugo levis, s\li(\ae fagus, 

Stivaque, quse currus a turgo torqueat imos. — Georg. i. \7^. 

Light to the yoke tlie linden feels the wound. 
And the tall beech lies stretch 'd along the ground; 
They fall i'or staves that guide the ploughshare's course. 

WAHToy, 



420 APPENDIX. 

(B. p. 122.) 
BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNT 

OF THE 

LATE llEV. DR. ENFIELD. 



THE Rev. William Enfield, LL.D. was born at Sudbury in 
Suflfolk, on March 29th, 1741,0. S. In common with many other 
characters of moral and literary excellence, it was his lot to 
come into the world destitute of the advantages of birth or for- 
tune. His parents were in a humble condition of life, which they 
rendered respectable by their virtues. His early education was 
probably on the narrow scale marked out by his circumstances. 
By his amiable disposition and promising parts he recommend- 
ed himself to the Rev. Mr. Hextall, the dissenting minister of 
the place, who treated him with peculiar notice, and took plea- 
sure in forming his youthful mind. He particularly awakened 
in him a sensibility to the beauties of oui principal poets; among 
whom, Akenside, by the charms of his versification, and the exalt- 
ed tone of his philosophy, was a peculiar favourite both with the 
instructor and the pupil. It appears to me no unreasonable sup- 
position that to his early fondness for this author, Dr. Enfield 
was indebted, more than to any other single circumstance, for 
that uniform purity of language, that entire freedom from any 
thing like vulgarity, as well in conversation as in writing, by 
which he was ever distinguished, Mr. Hextall'sgood opinion was 
probably the chief cause of his being devoted to the christian 
ministry. In his 17th year he was sent to the academy at Da- 
ventry, then conducted by the Rev. Dr. Ashworth. At this semi- 
nary he passed through the usual course of preparatory study 
for the pulpit. Of his academical character I know no more 
than that he was always conspicuous for the elegance of his com- 
positions ; and that he was among the number of those student'^ 



APPENDIX. 421 

whose inquiries led them to adopt a less rigid system of Christi- 
anity than was the established doctrine of the place. 

It was a striking proof of the attractions he possessed as a 
preacher, and as an amiable man in society, that almost imme- 
diately on leaving the academy he was invited to undertake the 
office of sole minister to the congregation of Benn's Garden in 
Liverpool, one of the most respectable among the dissenters. 
To that situation he was ordained in November 1763; and in a 
town abounding with agreeable society, and distinguished by 
liberal sentiments and hospitable manners, he passed seven of 
the happiest years of his life. He married, in 1767, Mary, the 
only daughter of Mr. Holland, draper in Liverpool ; and a most 
cordial union of thirty years gave full proof of the felicity of his 
choice. Though greatly engaged both in the present intercourses 
of society, and in the serious duties of his office, he com- 
menced in this place his literary career with two volumes of ser- 
mons, printed in 1768 and 1770, which were very favourably re- 
ceived by the public. Their pleasing moral strain, marked by 
no systematic peculiarities, so well adapted them for general 
use, that many congregations, besides that in which they were 
originally preached, had the benefit of the instruction they con- 
veyed. A collection of Hymns, for the use of his congregation, 
and of Family Prayers of his own composition, for private use 
further added to his professional and literary reputation. 

On the death of the Rev. Mr. Seddon of Warrington, Mr. 
Enfield was one of the first persons thought of by the trustees 
of the academical institution founded in that place, to succeed 
him in the offices of tutor in the belles-lettres, and of resident 
conductor of the discipline, under the title of Rector Academiae. 
With respect to his fitness for the first, no doubt could be enter- 
tained. The second was an untried exertion, depending for its 
success upon qualities of temper rarely meeting in one indivi- 
dual. Whatever could be effected by those amiable endowments 
which conciliate affection, might be hoped from one who was be- 
come the delight of a large circle of acquaintance ; but in those 
emergencies where firmness, resolution, and a kind of dignified 
severity of conduct, might be requisite, there was cause to ap- 
prehend a failure. He had his misgivings, but they were over- 
come by the encouragement and importunity of friends; and the 
offered situation was in several respects such as might flatter a 
young man, fond of literary society, and ambitious of a proper 



422 APPENDIX. 

field for the display of his talents. He accepted it, together 
with the office of minister to the dissenting congregation of War- 
rington. The occupations in which he engaged were extensive 
and complicated ; but no man had ever a better right to confide 
in his own industry and readiness. 

Every one acquainted with the attempts that have been made 
by the dissenters to institute places of education for the advanc- 
ed periods of youth, must have been sensible of the extreme diffi- 
culty of uniting the liberal plan of a collegiate life with such a 
system of internal dicipline as shall secure sobriety of manners, 
and diligence in the pursuit of study. Those sanctions which, 
however imperfectly, serve as engines of government in semina- 
ries established by the state, must ever be wanting in private 
institutions, which cannot annex to the grossest violation of their 
laws a higher penalty than simple expulsion, followed by no 
disabilities or deprivations, and probably held extremely cheap 
by those who have most deserved it. Warrington had a full 
share of this difficulty ; and also laboured under others, which 
rendered its existence, though at times it appeared flourishing 
and respectable, little better than a long struggle against incu- 
rable disease. The efforts of Dr. Enfield were faithfully joined 
with those of his colleagues, to support its credit, and to remedy 
evils as they occurred. His diligence was exemplary ; his ser- 
vices as a public and private tutor were numerous and valuable; 
his attention to discipline was, at least, uninterrupted ; but it 
may be acknowledged that the arduous post of domestic superin- 
tendant, and enforcer of the laws, was not that for which he was 
best calculated. So sensible, indeed, was he of his deficiency in 
this respect, and so much did he find his tranquillity injured by 
the scenes to which he was exposed, that he made a very serious 
attempt to free himself from the burden, by resigning this part 
of his charge ; and it was only after the failure of various appli- 
cations by the trustees to engage a successor, that !>e suffered 
himself to be persuaded to retain it. In fine, the crisis of the 
institution arrived in 1783, and its embarrassments were cured 
by its dissolution. 

However toilsome and anxious this period of Dr. Enfield's life 
might have been, it was that of rapid mental improvement. By 
the company he kept, and the business he had to go through, his 
faculties were strained to full exertion : nor was it only as a tutor 
that he employed his talents ; he greatly extended his reputation 



APPENDIX. 423 

as a writer. The following list comprises those works which 
lie published during his residence at Warrington. Several of 
them belong to the humble but useful class of compilations; 
yet in them he found occasion to display the elegance of his 
taste, and the soundness of his judgment. 

A Sermon at the Oi'dination of the Rev. Philip Taylor; 1770. 

I'hf l're:tclier's Directory ; 1771 , 4to. 

Tiu- Enp;lish Preaclicr ; a Collection of Sermons abridged and selected from va- 
rious authors; 9 vols. 12mo. 1773. 

An Essay townrd the History of Liverpool, from the papers of the late Mr. Geo. 
Perry, with other materials since collected ; small fol. 1774. 

Observations on Literary Property ; 4to. 1770. 

The Speaker; or Miscellaneous Pieces selected from the best English Writers, 
for the purposes of Reading and Speaking ; 8vo. 1774. To this very popular Work 
was prefixed an Essay on Elocution ; and to a subsequent edition was subjoined an 
Essay on Reading Works of Taste. 

Biographical Sermons, on the principal Characters mentioned in the Old and New 
Testament; 12mo. 1777. 

A Sermon on the Death of Mr. J. Gallway, a Student in the Academy at War- 
rington ; 1777. 

A Sermon on the Ordination of the Rev. J. Prior Estlin; 1778. 

A Sermon on the Death of the Rev. J. Aikin, D. D. 1780. 

Exercises in Elocution, being a Sequel to the Speaker ; 8vo. 1781. To an edition 
of this in 1794 was added, Counsels for Young Men. 

A Collection of Hymns ; intended as a Supplement to Watt's Psalms; 1781. 

A Translation of Rossignol's Elements of Geometry ; 8vo. 

Institutes of Natural Philosophy, Theoretical and Experimental; 4to. 1783, 

It will be remarked, that mathematical science is included 
among the later topics ; and no circumstance is better adapted 
to give an idea of the power of his mind than the occasion and 
manner of his taking up this abstruse study, which had previously 
by no means been a favourite with him. On a vacancy in the 
mathematical department of the academy, it was found imprac- 
ticable to give adequate encouragement from the funds it pos- 
sessed to a separate tutor in that branch. Dr. Enfield was there- 
fore strongly urged to undertake it; and by the hard study of 
one vacation he qualified himself to set out with a new class, 
which he instructed with great clearness and precision; himself 
advancing in the science in proportion to the demand, till he be- 
came a very excellent teacher in all the parts which were requi- 
site in the academical course. 

The degree of doctor of laws, which added a new title to his 
name during his residence at Warrington, was conferred upon 
him by the university of Edinburgh. 



424 APPENDIX. 

After the dissolution of the academy, Dr. Enfield remained 
two years at Warrington, occupied in the education of private 
pupils, a small number of whom he took as boarders, and in the 
care of his congregation. For the instruction of the latter he 
drew up a series of discourses on the principal incidents and 
moral precepts of the gospel, in which he displayed both his ta- 
lents as a commentator, and his skill in expanding into general 
lessons of conduct, those hints and particular observations which 
occur in the sacred narratives. This will not be an improper 
place to give some account of Dr. Enfield's character as a 
preacher and a divine. His manner of delivery was grave and 
impressive, affecting rather a tenor of uniform dignity than a va- 
riety of expression, for which his voice was not well calculated. 
It was entirely free from what is called tone, and though not 
highly animated, was by no means dull, and never careless or 
indifferent. As to his matter, it was almost exclusively that of 
a moral preacher. Religion was to him rather a principle than a 
sentiment; and he was more solicitous to deduce from it a rule 
of life, enforced by its peculiar sanctions, than to elevate it into 
a source of sublime feeling. Despising superstition, and fearing 
enthusiasm, he held as of inferior value every thing in religion 
which could not ally itself with morality, and condescend to hu- 
man uses. His theological system was purged of every myste- 
rious or unintelligible proposition ; it included nothing which 
appeared to him irreconcileable with sound philosophy, and the 
most rational opinions concerning the divine nature and perfec- 
tions. Possibly the test of rationality might with him supersede 
that of literary criticism. It will be seen from the subjects se- 
lected for this publication, that moral topics were much more con- 
genial to him than doctrinal ones ; and his character as a public 
instructor must be derived from the manner in which he has treat- 
ed these. Probably it will be found that scarcely any writer has 
entered with more delicacy into the minute and less obvious 
points of morality — has more skilfully marked out the nice dis- 
criminations of virtue and vice, of the fit and unfit. He has not 
only delineated the path of the strictly right, but of the amiable 
and becoming. He has aimed at rendering mankind not only 
mutually serviceable, but mutually agreeable ; and has delighted 
in painting true goodness with all those colours which it was said 
of old would make her so enchanting should she ever become 
visible to mortal eyes. 



APPENDIX. 425 

It will, perhaps, be expected that something should be said of 
Dr. Enfield in the peculiar character of a Dissenter. To dissent 
was by no means a part of his natural disposition ; on the con- 
trary, he could not without a struggle differ from those whom he 
saw dignified by station, respectable for learning and morals, and 
amiable in the intercourse of society. Nor was the voice of au- 
thority, when mildly and reasonably exerted, a signal to him of 
resistance, but rather a call to acquiescence. It is therefore not 
to be wondered at, that there was a period in his life when he 
looked towards the religious establishment of his country with a 
wish that no insuperable barrier should exist to the admission of 
those who, without violating the absolute dictates of conscience, 
might desire to join it. Inclined by temper and system to think 
well of mankind, and to entertain sanguine hopes of their pro- 
gress towards truth and reason, he could not bring himself to 
imagine that the active efforts (which we may all remember) of 
many excellent persons to produce a further reform in the Eng- 
lish church, and render the terms of entrance into its ministry 
more easy and liberal, would in the end fail of their effect. This 
idea dwelt long and weightily on his mind, and disposed him 
rather to regard the conformities, than the differences, between 
systems which he expected to see continually more nearly ap- 
proaching each othen Moreover, the correct and elegant language, 
and the manly strain of morality, which then characterised the pul- 
pit compositions of the most eminent of the clergy, command- 
ed his entire approbation ; and he thought that a mutual oblivion 
of topics of controversy might take place, from a consent in all 
friends of rational religion to confine their public discourses to 
subjects on which no differences existed between them. He lived, 
however, to see all his expectationb of this amicable union frus- 
trated — to see hierarchical claims maintained more dogmatically 
than before— and the chief stress of religion placed upon those 
doctrines in which the English church-articles most differ from 
the opinions of that class of dissenters to which he belonged. 
He lived, therefore, to become a more decided separatist than ever; 
and I am sure, that for many years before his death, though all 
his personal candour and good will towards the opposite party 
remained, no consideration would have induced him to range 
himself under its banners. The rights of private judgment and 
public discussion, and all the fundamental points of civil and re- 
ligious liberty, were become more and more dear to him ; and he 
3H 



4i2G APPENDIX. 

asserted them with a courage and zeal which seemed scarcely to 
belong to his habitual temper. A very manly discourse, which 
he published in 1788, on the hundredth anniversary of the revo- 
lution, sufficiently testifies his sentiments on these important sub- 
jects. 

It is now time to return to biographical narrative. In 1785, 
receiving an invitation from the congregation of the Octagon cha- 
ple at Norwich, a society with whom any man might esteem it an 
honour and happiness to be connected, he accepted it, under the 
condition of residing at a small distance from the city, and con- 
tinuing his plan of domestic tuition. He first settled at the plea- 
sant village of Thorpe; but at length he found it more convenient 
to remove to Norwich itself. Though he was eminently happy 
in his mode of educating a small number, of which several strik- 
ing examples might be adduced ; yet, like most who have adopt- 
ed that plan, he found that the difficulty of keeping up a regular 
supply of pupils, and the unpleasant restraint arising fr.om a party 
of young men, so far domiciliated, that they left neither time 
nor place for family privacy, more than compensated the advan- 
tages to be derived from such an employment of his talents. He 
finally removed, therefore, to a smaller habitation, entire declin- 
ed receiving boarders, and only gave private instructions to two 
or three select pupils a few hours in the forenoon. At length he 
determined to be perfectly master of his own time, and to give to 
his family, friends, and spontaneous literary pursuits, all the lei- 
sure he possessed from his professional duties. The circum- 
stances of his family confirmed him in this resolution. He 
was the father of tw'» sons and three daughters, all educated 
under his own eye; and had he had no other examples to pro- 
duce of his power of making himself at the same time a friend 
and a tutor — -of conciliating the most tender affection with ready 
and undeviating obedience — his children would, by all who knew 
them, be admitted as sufficient proofs of this happy art. They 
became every thing that their parents could wish ; — but the eld- 
est son, after passing with uncommon reputation through his 
clerkship to an attorney (Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool,) and advan- 
cing so far in his professional career as to be appointed, when 
just of age, town-clerk of Nottingham, was suddenly snatched 
away by a fever. The doctor bore his grievous loss with exem- 
plary resignation ; but the struggle produced effects on his health 
which alarmed his friends. Symptoms resembling those of the 



APPENDIX. 427 

fatal disease termed angina pectoris came on ; indeed, it may be 
said that he really laboured under an incipient state of this dis- 
order. LtUt time, medicine, and happier subjects of reflection, 
restored him to health and cheerfulness. He had the felicity of 
seeing two of his dau{j,hters most desirably settled in marriage. 
His remaining son bid fair to become all that tlie other had been; 
He was, therefore, fully entitled to enjoy himself in the domes- 
tic freedom he loved, and to confine his future exertions to those 
lettered employments which, to one of his industrious habits, 
were necessary to give a zest to social relaxation. 

He had net yet completely detached himself from the business 
of tuition, when he undertook the most laborious of his literary 
tasks, an abridgement of Briickcr^s History of Philosophy. This 
work appeared in two volumes 4to. in the year 1791, and would 
alone have been sufficient to establish the writer's character as a 
master of the middle style of composition, and as a judicious se- 
lector of what was most valuable in the representation of man- 
ners and opinions. The oiiginal work has obtained a high re- 
putation among the learned, for the depth of its researches, and 
the liberality of its spirit; but its Latin style is involved and 
prolix, and the heaviness that pervades the whole has rendered it 
rather a book for occasional consultation than for direct perusal. 
Dr. Enfield's abridgement is a work equally instructive and 
agreeable; and it may be pronounced that the tenets of all the 
leading sects of philosophers were never before, in the English 
language, displayed with such elegance and perspicuity. It was, 
indeed, his peculiar talent to arrange and express other men's 
ideas to the greatest advantage. His style, chaste, clear, correct, 
free from all affectation and singularity, was proper for all topics; 
and the spirit of method and order which reigned in his own 
mind, communicated itself to every subject which he touched 
upon. These qualities, together with that candour which was 
interwoven in his very constitution, especially fitted him to take 
a part in a literary journal ; and to one of the most respectable 
of these works he was long a considerable contributor. The in- 
stitution of a new magazine, under the name of the Monthly, 
which in its plan embraced a larger circle of original literature 
than usual with these miscellanies, engaged him to exercise his 
powers as an essayist on a variety of topics ; and the papers with 
which he enriched it, under the title of The Inquirer, obtained 



428 APPENDIX. 

great applause from the manly freedom of their sentiments, and 
the correct elegance of their language. 

Thus did his latter years glide on, tranquil and serehv,, in the 
bosom of domestic comfort, surrounded by friends to whom he 
became continually more dear, and in the midst of agreeable 
occupations. So well confirmed did his health appear, and so 
much did he feel himself in the full vigour and maturity of his 
powers, that he did not hesitate, in the year 1796, to associate 
himself with the writer of this account, one of his oldest and 
most ii^timate companions, in a literary undertaking of g^at 
magnitude, which looked to a distant period for its completion. 
Were it not the duty of mortals to employ their talents in the 
way they can approve, without regarding contingencies which 
they can neither foresee nor overrule, such an engagement, in per- 
sons descending into the vale of years, might be accused of pre- 
sumption ; but it implied in them no more than a resolution to 
act with diligence as long as they should be permitted to act- 
to work while it is called to-day, mindful of that approaching 
night when no man can work. The composition, that of a Gene- 
ral Biographical Dictionary, proved so agreeable to Dr. Enfield, 
that he was often heard to say his hours of study had never 
passed so pleasantly with him ; and the progress he made was 
proportioned to his industry and good will. Every circumstance 
seemed to promise him years of comfort in store. He was hap- 
py himself, and imparted that happiness to all who came within 
the sphere of his influence. But an incurable disease was in the 
mean time making unsuspected advances. A scirrhous contrac- 
tion ot the rectum, denoting itself only by symptoms which he 
did not understand, and which, therefore, he imperfectly de- 
scribed to his medical friends, was preparing, without pain or 
general disease, to effect a sudden and irresistible change. The 
very day before this disorder manifested itself he was compli- 
mented on his cheerful spirits and healthy looks, and himself 
confessed that he had nothing, bodily or, mental, of which he 
ought to complain. But the obstruction was now formed. A 
sickness came on, the proper functions of the intestines were 
suspended, nothing was able to give relief; and after a week, 
passed rather in constant uneasiness than in acute pain, with 
liis faculties entire nearly to the last, foreseeing the fatal event, 
and meeting it with manly fortitude, he sunk in the arms of his 
f hildren and friends, and expired without a struggle. This ca- 



APPENDIX. 429 

(astroplie took place on November 3d, 1797, in the fifty-seventh 
year of his life. The deep regrets of all who knew him — of those 
the most to whom he was best known — render it unnecessary to 
enter into any further description of a character, the essense of 
which was to be amiable. A man's writings have often proved 
very inadequate tests of his dispositions. Those of Dr. Enfield, 
however, are not. They breathe the very spirit of his gentle and 
generous soul. He loved mankind, and wished nothing so much 
as to render them the worthy objects of love. This is the lead- 
ing character of those of his discourses which have been select- 
ed for publication ; as it is, indeed, of all he composed. May 
their effect equal the most sanguine wishes of their benevolent 
author! 



428 APPENDIX. 



(C. p. 122.) 
DESCRIPTION 

OF THE 

COUNTRY ABOUT DORKING. 



Iris a sufficiently trite remark, that objects of admiration and 
curiosity near at hand are commonly neglected for those at a 
distance ; and that even their existence is often unknown to 
those who might become spectators of them any day of their 
lives. I was never more struck with the truth of this observa- 
tion, than on a late residence for some weeks at Dorking, in 
Surrey, the vicinity of which place affords scenes not only of 
such uncommon beauty, but of so romantic a cast, as few would 
expect to meet with so near the metropolis. I should probably have 
made use of the term picturesque to characterise the general 
scenery of this district, had 1 not been fully convinced by the 
ingenious Mr. Gilpin, that this word loses all true meaning the 
instant we deviate from its etymological definition, that of "fit- 
ness for pictured representation.'' Now, being myself but a very 
inadequate judge of this point, and, moreover, considering it as 
a manifest degradation of natural beauty and sublimity to sub- 
mit their merit to the test of the capacity of art to copy them, I 
shall rather obliterate from my descriptive vocabulary an epithet, 
however fashionable, than employ it without distinct ideas. 

The tract of which I mean to attempt a slight sketch, may be 
reckoned to commence at the pleasant village of Leatherhead, 
whence a narrow valley extends southwards, forming the bed 
of the small river Mole, in its course from the foot of Box-hilI_ 
The western side of this valley is composed of a chain of heights j, 
the principal part of which is comprehended in the precincts of 



APPENDIX. 431 

Norbury park. To them succeed the hills of Ranmer and Den- 
beighs, which last bends round to join the long ridge running to- 
wards Guilford. The eastern side of this valley is formed by 
the rising grounds of Leatherhead and Mickleham Downs, and 
finally by Box-hill, which like its opposite Denbeighs, sweeps 
round to form the ridge running on to Ryegate, and thence quite 
into Kent. Thus, the vale of Leatherhead, after a course of 
about four miles, terminates perpendicularly in another vale, 
opening on each hand from the town ot Dorking, and extending 
many miles in an eastern and western direction. The river 
Mole, entering Leatherhead vale from the foot of Box hill, and 
meandering through it from side to side, bestows on it a beauti- 
ful verdure and rich vegetation, though from its narrowness and 
scanty supply of water, it contributes little to the landscape. 

Many are the elegant seats and pleasant farms and cottages 
which decorate this delightful vale ; but its two capital objects 
are Norbury park on one hand, and Box hill on the other. JVor- 
bury park is well known as the domain of Mr. Locke, a gentle- 
man highly celebrated for the elegance and correctness of his 
taste. It is fortunate that a tract so favoured by nature should 
have fallen to the lot of a master capable of giving it all the ad- 
vantages of art, in a style perfectly correspondent with its natu- 
ral character. The grounds of Norbury consists of rich meadows 
bordering on the Mole, and abruptly terminating in the steep 
green sides of a range of irregular eminences, of considerable 
height, and uniting into a common level at the top. Chalk hills, 
of which kind are those in question, have commonly a grotesque 
singularity in their outline. They give the idea of having been 
formed by vast masses of liquid mortar, poured along over a 
plain, and at once setting into solidity. Hence, with a general 
rotundity of shape, the edges are composed of unequal promi- 
nences, pushing into or retiring from the subjacent low grounds, 
and separated from each other by deep narrow ravines. Such is 
the surface nature has given to Norbury park. Art has contri- 
buted the dress and decoration by means of planting ; and this 
has been managed so as to produce the most striking effects. 
The bottom of meadow is besprinkled with fine trees, partly fol- 
lowing the windings of the river, partly forming rows or avenues, 
and partly scattered without obvious order. The bold ascents, 
consisting of round knolls and amphitheatrical sweeps, are for 
the most part left in their natural nakedness : but the ravines 



432 APPENDIX. 

are filled up with shrubs and trees, which shade all detonnities, 
and add great softness and richness to the whole. The summit 
of the eminence is crowned by noble masses of trees, expanding 
into full luxuriance, and appearing either as detached groups, or 
long connected ranges, according to the points whence they arc 
viewed. In the midst of these, on the very edge of a command- 
ing brow, the house is placed ; an edifice of striking though not 
quite regular architecture, and well fitted to reign over the do- 
main in which it is placed. Some fine larches planted near it 
just on the descent stamp it with somewhat of an alpine charac- 
ter, which its elevation above the \ale, and the great variety and 
extent of prospect visible from it, enable it to maintain. The 
level plain around the house is a lawn interspersed with timber, 
chiefly beech, disposed either in grand clumps, or in single trees 
of vast magnitude, filling the eye with the gigantic rotundity of 
their forms. The planting is so managed that the lawn seems 
to terminate all round in a close wood, of which the boundaries 
are not discoverable. From the house extends a sort of terrace 
on the brow of the eminence, which at length leads to a thick 
plantation clothing the steep sides of a precipitous declivity. 
Through this are led rides and walks, presenting sylvan scenes 
of exquisite beauty, in which the beeches, drawn up to avast 
height with straight unbranched trunks, acquire a character of 
airy elegance, totally different from the massy roundness of this 
tree when suffered to expand without interruption A very beau- 
tiful appendage to the planting of Norbury, not readily discov- 
erable by a stranger, is a close walk round a coppice or planta- 
tion on the back of the park, formed of young trees, among which 
the pendent birch is one of the most frequent This walk winds 
round in the most free and graceful curves, by which the view 
is successively lost in foliage, and again recovered in long 
reaches. The trees on each hand form a skreen, just thick 
enough to exclude surrounding objects, yet admitting a soft and 
chequered light, the effect of which is rather cheerful than 
gloomy. In many places the trees arch over at the top. Here 
and there, in peculiarly happy situations, views are opened into 
the surrounding country ; but these do not impair the leading 
character of the walk, which is that of perfect retirement. I do 
not recollect ever to have felt a sweeter emotion of the kind, than 
when accident first led me to this sequestered spot- 
In the descriptions of celebrated places, I think the distinc- 



APPENDIX. 433 

tion is seldom clearlj made between the scenes they themselves 
afford, and the prospects to be viewed from them. Yet this is a 
distinction obvious and material. Some spots, if denuded of 
every ornament of their own, and left merely in a state of nature, 
would be eagerly resorted to as stations whence surrounding 
beauties might be viewed to the greatest advantage. Others, like 
tlie spots of verdure in an African desert, contain within them- 
selves all the charms they have to boast. The happiest situations 
combine both these circumstances ; but rarely in equal propor- 
tions. Norbury-park, naturally a sterile soil, has been rendered, 
chiefly by exquisite skill in planting, a tine object in itself; but 
the prospects from it are beauties gratuitously bestowed upon its 
local situation, which perhaps contribute most to its pre-emi- 
nence among the seats in its neighbourhood. From the houses 
and the whole crest of the eminence on which it is placed, suc- 
cessive views open of the subjacent valley and the remoter dis- 
tances, scarcel}"^ to be paralleled for their gay variety and finish- 
ed softness. Northwards, Leatherheatl, with the variegated 
country beyond it extending towards Kingston and Epsom; — 
directly opposite, the charming village of Mickelham, backed by 
its fine green downs ; — onwards to the south-east, the seat of Sir 
Lucas Pepys, apparently lying upon the bosom of a steep pine- 
clad hill, of truly alpine character ; — somewhat further, Box-hill, 
presenting its precipitous side, partly disclosing bare and craggy 
spots of chalk, partly clothed with its proper shrub, of peculiar hue; 
— beyond it, the richly wooded eminences of parks and seats near 
Dorking, bending round to the south, and terminating an interme- 
diate vale of perfect beauty,divided to the eye by the aid of planting 
into separate portions, made more or less extensive at pleasure, 
and forming landscapes which I should have called singularly 
picturesque, had I not doubted of the power of painting to give 
any adequate idea of scenes lying in such a striking manner im- 
mediately beneath the sight. Mr. Gilpin, in his late Western 
Tour, has given a sketch of the prospects from Norbury; and 
from his remarks may be gathered how they appear to an eye in 
search of the true picturesque. I believe, however, that a more 
untaught spectator, gratified with the charms of nature, without 
referring them to a remoter test, would receive from them a purer 
delight. Mr. Locke's celebrated painted room is, in fact, the 
subject of much more of Mr. Gilpin's description than the park 

3 I 



434 APPENDIX. 

itself. This room, presenting a fine landscape on each of its 
sides, together with the decorations of figures, foliage, flowers, 
&c. is, I doubt not, an extraordinary work of art; but placed as 
it is, the effect upon my feelings was that of a proof of the infin- 
ite superiority of real to pictured scenery ; and the burst of 
splendour poured in at the windows almost entirely extinguish- 
ed to my eye the magic lights of Barrett's pencil. I could not 
help wishing, that the cost bestowed upon this piece of painting- 
had rather been devoted to some architectural ornaments out of 
doors; since the style of cultured beauty prevalent in Norbury- 
park would, in my opinion, admit with advantage ajudicious in- 
termixture of such decoration, though it cannot be said abso- 
lutely to require it. The only attempt at an edifice is a thatched 
plaster building with green window shutters, the appearance of 
which, in one of the most commanding sites of the park, is, in my 
judgment, wholly incongruous. And there is nothing in which 
the modern English taste seems to me so faulty, as in the cus- 
tom of placing mean and rustic buildings in the midst of scenes 
certainly not intended to convey the idea of the absence of art 
and expense. This love of simplicity has, in various other par- 
ticulars, injured our national taste ; and has produced incongrui- 
ties in our style of poetry and oratory, as well as in our external 
decorations. 

I have already mentioned Box-lull as the other great feature 
of the vale 1 am describing. It is indeed the most striking ob- 
ject of this part of the country, and best known as a popular cu- 
riosity. It comprehends a considerable space, being composed 
of three or four smooth green I'idges, separated from each other 
by narrow dells, and uniting at the summit into one lofty wooded 
top. On the side facing the vale of Leatherhead, its descent is 
not much short of perpendicular, forming a kind of chalky crag, 
naked and crumbling where not bound by the box trees and other 
shrubs, which in most parts give it a rich and thick covering. Its 
foot is bathed in the Mole, abruptly terminating its declivity, 
and giving it a fringe of aquatic trees and verdant meadows. Its 
peculiarity arises from its resemblance to the bold broken crags 
of mountainous countries; which, however, it only holds on this 
side ; for where it bends round to join the Ryegate ridge of chalk 
hills, it puts on the same rotundity of form with the rest. Its 
crest aftbrds a walk uncommonly striking; winding through the 
plantations of box, and at the openings affording bird's eye views 



APPENDIX. 435 

of all the charms, as well as of the Leatherhead Vale, as of that 
much longer one in which the former terminates. It is difficult 
to determine whether this romantic hill produces a greater effect 
as an object from the subjacent vale, or as a station for a pros- 
pect. The point of view whence the hill itself is the most strik- 
ing spectacle, is from the very elegant cottage and grounds of 
Mr. Barclay, seated directly beneath it. The vast perpendicular 
wall of verdure, forming a side-skreen to those grounds, has an 
effect of real sublimity as well as uncommon beauty ; and a simi- 
lar happy circumstance is perhaps scarcely to be met with in any 
other ornamental scene. The waters of the Mole are commonly 
said to sink into the ground under Box-hill. No interruption of 
the stream, however is to be observed at the foot of the hill it- 
self ; though after it has passed Burford bridge, in its course 
through Norbury-park, there are several such interruptions. 

The map of Surrey will show a remarkable ridge running 
across the county, quite from the border of Hampshire to Kent, 
near the centre of which the town of Dorking is situated. This 
is a range of chalk or limestone hills, the general nature and ap- 
pearance of which 1 have already described. From Dorking it 
may be seen running on one hand to the neighbourhood of Guil- 
ford, on the other beyond Ryegate. This ridge forms one side or 
wall of a long valley. It is for the most part naked, and of steep 
ascent ; broken into a chain of separate rounded eminences, and 
here and there displaying the nature of its soil by chalk pits, 
which have been opened in different parts of it. The other side 
of the valley is much less distinctly marked, consisting of scat- 
tered eminences, approaching or receding, mostly clothed with 
wood, and by their breaks aftbrding frequent openings into the 
southern parts of Surrey. The vale, however, is, upon the whole, 
sufficiently marked by the streams which run along it, and which 
are, the Mole, coming from the neighbourhood of Ryegate, and 
turning short round the foot of Box-hill ; Pitt-brook, flowing from 
the west under Dorking, and at length terminating in the Mole; 
and another brook which flows in a contrary direction towards 
Guilford. These brooks are enlivened by a number of mills; 
and a tract of verdant meadows accompanies their course. 

The continuation of Box hill towards Ryegate consists of 
naked round eminences, the sterile appearance of which serves 
as a striking contrast to the richness of the vale below. The 
first object immediately beneath them is Beachworth castle and 



436 APPENDIX. 

park, now the propertv of Peters, Esq. This is an an- 

cient seat, chieHy remarkable for the noble timber belonging to 
it. Approaching it from Dorking, the road leads through an 
outer park, skirted with rows of old chesnut trees, of large di- 
mensions, and of forms which perhaps a painter would rather 
denominate grotesque than picturesque. The peculiar manner 
in which this tree sends off its branches, making elbows and 
sharp angles, and often crossing each other in the most irregular 
lines, gives it a very singular character : but, on the whole, the 
chesnuts fl/JBeachworth impress the beholder with extraordina- 
ry ideas of giga^aiic greatness. The inner park, at the extremity 
of which the house is situated, has two fine avenues, the one of 
elm trees, the other of limes, the tallest I ever beheld. This 
last is a triple avenue, resembling the nave of a cathedral, but 
greatly surpassing in grandeur the works of human hands. The 
trees. touch each other with their branches, forming on the out- 
side a vast screen, or wall of verdure. Within, the branches, 
meeting at a great height in the air from the opposite sides of 
the rows, form Gothic arches, and exclude every ray of the me- 
ridian sun. I never felt a stronger impression of awful gloom 
than on entering these solemn walks in the dusk of evening. 
The river Mole, washing the edge of Beachworth park, has in 
some parts a respectable breadth, and is beautifully shaded with 
aquatic trees and bushes. 

A very little to the south of Beachworth park lies Chart, the 
pleasing seat and grounds of Mrs. Cornwall. The former inha- 
bitant was Abraham Tucker, Esq. well known for his acute me- 
taphysical writings, under the name of Search. Chart park is of 
no great extent; but the ground in it is strikingly varied in its 
surface* and has been planted with great taste. Its steep sum- 
mits are crowned with trees of various kinds. The house, a plain 
\vhite building, lies low. Close behind it the ground rises ab- 
ruptly to a terrace, planted with a line of beeches, and affording 
fine views of the adjacent country. Some remarkablj'^ large plane 
trees decorate the slope ; and on one hand is a rookery on the 
top of some lofty pines. Mrs. Cornwall cultivates many curious 
plants, and her shrubbery is furnished with some beautiful exo- 
tics in high perfection. Joining to Chart park, on the side of 
Dorking, are the elegant woods and grounds of the house of 
Ladj Burrell, a large modern brick edifice, which forms a con- 
spicuous object in the views of that town. The series of irregu- 



APPENDIX. 437 

lar heights which compose the southern side of the vale formerly 
mentioned, next leads to an eminence marked by a clump of 
lirs, and commonly called Doj-king's Glory. This is a very happy 
station for a prospect, commanding not only the vales of Lea- 
therhead and Dorking, but a long tract of the southern part of 
Surrey, extending to tiie borders of Sussex. Passing westwards, 
behind tlje town of Dorking, tlie chain of elevated ground leads 
to Berry hill, a seat belonging to Lord Grimston, now in the 
occupancy of George Shum, Esq. A low ridge of hill, loosely 
planted with wood, terminates in a thick dark fir plantation, just 
behind which, fronting the south, stands the house. This is an 
edifice of more show and architectural pretention than those of 
the other seats in the neighbourhood ; and by the complete shel- 
ter it receives from the north and east, and its exposure to a 
southern sun, must enjoy a full share of all the warmth this cli- 
mate can boast. Before it is a handsome piece of water, artifi- 
cially made at great cost ; and beyond, the view terminates in 
some bold eminences crowned with fir and larch. The charac- 
ter of this seat is elegance united with the true English charm 
of snugness. It seems rather calculated for the enjoyment of 
the owner, than the gaze of the spectator. 

About a mile westward from hence, on the lower Guilford 
road, is the Rookery, the villa of Richard Fuller, Esq. This de- 
lightful place occupies one of those dells which descend from 
the south into the long vale we have above described, each serv- 
ing as the bed of a little stream. The imagination can scarcely 
conceive a scene of the kind more complete than this. The dell, 
at a distance, appears like a break or chasm between two hills, 
entirely filled with wood. On entering it, however, there is 
found to be room for a sweet verdant meadow, containing a 
stream which descends in several little falls (rather too artifi- 
cial) and turns a mill near the house. The house itself, a plain 
white building in a kind of antique style of architecture, stands 
upon a sloping bank, having directly opposite to it a bold emi- 
nence finely planted with trees, and subsiding in a green lawn. 
The stream, now widened, runs between; and, a little higher, 
expands into an extensive pool, shaded on all sides with trees 
and shrubs to the water's edge, and winding out of sight. A nar- 
row strip of green lawn bordering the water, spreading at length 
into a small meadow, forms all the rest of the grounds which is 
not occupied with wood. Plantations of beeches and other tall 



438 APPENDIX. 

timber trees fill the remaining space, insulating (as it were) the 
whole with a belt of forest scenery, and securing to it a character 
of coolness and sequestered retreat, which no other place that I 
have seen possesses in an equal degree. The hottest and most 
sunny season of the year seems the time for enjoying this place 
to full advantage. In dark and chilly weather, it must probably 
appear to super-abound with shade and moisture ; yet the site 
of the house is tolerably cheerful and open. 

A little to the south-west of the Rookery, another dell de- 
scends in the same direction, called by the appropriate name of 
Valley Lonesome. This is occupied by the house and grounds 
of Mr. Haynes, and presents a scene considerably different from 
any yet described. The house, an elegant piece of architecture, ap- 
pears, by a. jet (Peau playing in front, with two equidistant bridges, 
and various ornamental appendages, disposed with perfect cor- 
respondence and regularity, to have been planned before the mo- 
dern taSte of rural decoration took place. The stream flowing 
through the valley is made to put on a variety of forms in ba- 
sins, falls, channels, &c. which are rather trifling; but a cascade, 
really of some effect, bursts out from a high bank which borders 
the vale, though the steps or ledges down which the water is 
made to fall, and the round stone basin which at last receives it, 
give it too formal an appearance. The general character of Val- 
ley Lonesome is gay and cheerful notwithstanding its seques- 
tered situation. Its upper end terminates in that wild tract, 
which, at length becoming a black naked moor, rises into the 
celebrated Xeith Hill. The ascent on this side is very gentle; 
and the elevation would scarcely be suspected, were it not for 
the very extensive prospect that bursts on the sight at the fur- 
ther extremity. A tower, now in a ruinous state, marks the spot 
most favourable for the view. The southern part of Surrey, and 
a vast reach into Kent and Sussex, particularly the latter coun- 
ty, bounded by the line of elevated downs, compose the field of 
this extensive prospect, which is rather striking from its extent 
alone, than from any peculiar beauty or singularity of the de- 
tached parts. A flat and tolerably wooded country reaches to 
the downs ; which last afford a wavy horizon, broken in some 
places by gaps ; through one of which the sea, near Shoreham, 
may in clear weather be discerned by the aid of a glass. In a 
line with Leith hill are other high moors, stretching away to the 
western side of Surrey. Returning from Leith hill, a long and 



APPENDIX. 439 

singular avenue of firs, planted in small clumps at regular dis- 
tances, leads to the main valley we have left, by the back of the 
noble woods and plantations surrounding the seat of Sir Frede- 
rick Evelyn at Watton. The seat itself is an ordinary house, 
strangely placed in a bottom ; but few mansions can boast of such 
an imposing accompaniment of lofty groves and thick woods, fill- 
ing and characterising a large tract of land. 

In order to bring our tour round Dorking within moderate 
compass, we will now take our course from Sir Frederick's 
straight to the chalky ridge we have so long left ; and ascend- 
ing it, proceed over Ranmer common to Denbeighs, the seat of 
Mr. Denison, impending over the town of Dorking, to which it 
affords one of its most conspicuous objects. This house was 
built by Mr. Tyers, first proprietor of Vauxhall, who transport- 
ed to it many of the ideas of his public gardens, dark walks, tem- 
ples, theatrical deceptions, ruins, monuments, and the like. These 
have been mostly removed, or suffered to go to decay ; but there 
remains on one side of the house a fine green terrace, backed 
with trees ; and on the other a close plantation of considerable 
extent, crowning the verge of the hill. Though taste has done 
much less for this place than for Norbury park, yet it may be 
questioned, whether its site be not equally advantageous, and 
the prospect it commands equally striking, with respect to va- 
riety and beauty. Almost all the places we have been describing 
lie within its view ; to which may be added the town of Dork- 
ing, and all the lesser charms of the subjacent valley. Its de- 
scent to Dorking is very steep; and the road passes by some ex- 
tensive chalk-pits, which are continually wrought, and furnish a 
lime in great esteem for its property of hardening under water. 

It would be easy to enlarge the list of beautiful scenes in this 
neighbourhood, all within the reach of a morning's walk or ride, 
and affording a source of daily variety for several weeks. The 
purity of the air, the fragrance from an exuberance of aromatic 
plants and shrubs, the music from numberless birds, the choice 
of sheltered or open country, the liberty of wandering without 
obstacle or question through the most cultured scenes, and the 
perfect repose which reigns all around, unite to render this tract 
of country one of the most delightful to the contemplative man., 
and the most salutary to the invalid, that I have ever visited. 



440 APPENDIX, 



(D. p. 134.) 
BIOGRAPHICAL x\CCOUNT 

OF THE 

LATE DR. PULTENEY. 



RICHARD PULTENEY, M.D. F.R.S. L. and E. was born in 
the year 1730, at Loughborough, in Leicestershire. His parents 
had thirteen children, of whom he alone arrived at the age of 
maturity. From early youth he was of a delicate habit, and 
supposed to be inclined to a consumption ; and it was by means 
of rigid temperance, w-hich he observed during his whole life, 
that he maintained himself in a tolerable state of health. He 
has recorded (in Mr. Nichols's History of Leicestershire,) his ob- 
ligations to his uncle, Mr. George Tomlinson, of Hathern, who 
possessed some property in that village, and adorned an obscure 
station with virtue and science. " Those (says Dr. Pulteney) 
who remember and intimately knew the subject of this memoir, 
Avill not, it is believed, judge it otherwise than impartial, though, 
confessedly, a tribute from his nearest relative, one who reveres 
his memory with the truest affection, who, through the early stage 
of life, received from him, as from a father, the genuine dictates 
of wisdom, virtue, and religion ; all of which were truly exem- 
plified in his own conduct throughout the whole of his life." 
From this relation he imbibed his taste for botanical studies ; and 
it was probably through his instigation that he was destined to 
the medical profession. 

The youth's first situation in a professional capacity was that 
of apprentice to an apothecary in Loughborough; an humble 
school, which, however, his industry and talent for observation 
were able to render instructive. He passed through the usual 
course of a country education, and then complied with an invi- 
tation to settle at Leicester. That town, like most provincial 



APPEKDIX. 441 

capitals, was divided into two political and religious parties; 
and it was that of the dissenters (to which his parents belonged) 
whence Mr. Pulteney received his support. His sphere was still 
further narrowed, by t'le limitation of practising only as an apo- 
thecary ; for it was thought due to the consequence of the party, 
to possess a surgeon of their own as a separate professional cha- 
racter, which office was filled by Mr. Cogan, aman of merit and 
agreeable manners. 

Few remarks can be necessary on the hardship of placing per- 
sons of abilities and liberal sentiments in situations so unfavour- 
able to the acquirement of that reputation and those emoluments 
which are justly due to professional superiority; and in which 
they must be reduced to an unworthy and degrading dependence 
upon a few party-leaders. 

Mr. Pulteney was of a timid and cautious disposition; and, 
though his mind was by no means formed for shackles, his tem- 
per was not firm enough to enable him effectually to assert his 
freedom. It would be an unpleasant task to dwell upon the 
share he had in those " scorns which patient merit of the unwor- 
thy takes ;" or of the struggle he maintained with narrow cir- 
cumstances, which obliged him to contract habits of rigid cecon- 
omy rendered more necessary by the passion for buying books, 
to which he was content to sacrifice every other inclination. Sci- 
ence was, indeed, his great resource under the discouragements 
of his situation, and it eventually proved the means of raising 
him from obscurity. To his private friends he was known as one 
who had inquired largely and thought freely on a variety of to- 
pics. To the public he first appeared as a votary of the pleasing 
study of botany. He became a correspondent of the Gentleman's 
Magazine at an early period ; and communicated to it, anony- 
mously, a series of valuable letters concerning the poisonous 
plants of this country, and a dissertation on Fungi, contained in 
the xxvth volume of that miscellany. To the same publication 
he sent, in 1757, a translation of a curious paper in the Upsal 
Amcenitates Academics^ on "the Sleep of Plants." This subject 
he pursued more at large in a paper inserted in the fiftieth vol- 
ume of the Philosophical Transactions, for 1758, entitled "Ob- 
servations on the Sleep of Plants, with an enumeration of several 
Plants which are subject to that Law." He had before appeared 
among the contributors to the Philosophical Transactions by a 
" Catalogue of the rare Plants of Leicestershire, with Bptanical 
3K 



442 APPENDIX, 

and Medical Observations;" vol. xlix. for 1756. This paper he 
gave to Mr. Nichols, in an improved state, in 1795, who has in- 
serted it in the first volume of his history of that county. In 
1758 he printed, in the Gentlemmi's Magazine, a translation from 
the same Amtenitates, of the instructive paper entitled " Pan 
Suecus," giving a catalogue of plants which, from experimentj 
were found to be either chosen or rejected as food by the differ- 
ent species of domestic quadrupeds. This he adapted more par- 
ticularly to English readers by referring to English authors; and 
he subjoined to it some notes and observations. Its utility caus- 
ed him afterwards to annex it, in a more enlarged form, to his 
*' View of the Writings of Linnseus." 

He distinguished himself in a manner more purely professional 
by a paper published in the Philosophical Transactions, vol. Hi. for 
1761, giving an account of a singular medical case attended with 
palpitation of the heart and other uncommon symptoms, and 
which, upon dissection, exhibited a preternatural enlargement of 
"that organ. In 1762, he received the honour of being elected a 
fellow of the Royal Society. His name was now associated to 
those of men of science in various departments ; and his personal 
merits were becoming known to a wider circle of acquaintance, 
to whom he was endeared by his modest worth, and the good 
«ense and discretion which peculiarly characterised him. Nor 
can it be doubted, that, even with his original disadvantages of 
situation, he would have attained a respectable share of business 
at Leicester, though still in that inferior branch of the profes- 
sion on which he had at first entered, to which, however, he had 
added the practice of midwifery. But it was his lot to possess 
a friend whose ardent and enterprising spirit was an admirable 
■corrective of his own diffidence, and who esteemed him too much 
to acquiesce in his continuing in a rank and employment beneath 
Iiis merits. This was Mr. Maxwell Garthshore, then eminent in 
.medical practice at Uppingham, in Rutlandshire. By means of 
a common friend, much revered by both, they were made ac- 
quainted in the year 1758, and this acquaintance soon ripened 
into a warmth of friendship which death alone could extinguish- 
As it was, Mr. Garthshare's own plan, after a residence for some 
years at Uppingham, to take the degree of doctor at Edinburgh, 
where he had received his medical education, he strongly urged 
Mr. Pnlteney to accompany him thither, and offer himself to the 
examinations of the university, though he had never enjoyed the 



APPENDIX. 443 

advantage of academical instruction there or elsewhere. His 
reluctance was at length overcome ; and the two friends set out 
upon their expedition in the spring of 1764. Mi. Pulteney was 
already known by reputation at Edinburgh, particularly to Dr. 
Hope, the professor of Botany ; and he had the benefit of his 
companion's extensive connections in the place. He passed 
through all the necessary preliminaries with credit, and 'n May 
received the honours of graduation. The subject of his inaugu- 
ral dissertation was " l)e Cinchona," or, On the Peruvian Bark ; 
of the natural and medical history of which important article he 
gave a very satisfactory and instructive account. The botanical 
description is particularly accurate, and is illustrated by a plate; 
and his Thesis has been thought worthy of re-printing in a col- 
lection of the most valuable compositions of the kind which the 
medical school of Edinburgh has produced. 

A circumstance relative to his graduation, honourable to him- 
self, but affording matter of reflection relative to the conduct of 
public bodies, ought not to be passed over in silence. The uni- 
versity of Edinburgh had now for a considerable timebeen rising 
in reputation as a school of medicine, and its degrees in that fa- 
culty became of course more and more respectable. It is well 
known that the universities of Scotland, modelled upon those of 
the continent, have adopted the practice of conferring degrees 
upon examination, without requiring in the candidates a pre- 
.vious residence in their own seminary, or, indeed, in any other. 
In some of them the examination itself has been dispensed with, 
and the requested distinction has been bestowed upon persons 
at a distance, in consequence of mere recommendation. It is no 
wonder that such a laxity should have thrown occasional discredit 
upon academical honours ; nor that the public should have been 
prone to confound the degrees conferred at universities similarly 
constituted, in one general note of disesteem. The Edinburgh 
medical students justly considered themselves entitled to be re- 
garded among those of the profession who had received the 
greatest advantages of education, and were the most deserving 
of those testimonials of competency which titular distinctions 
imply. They had therefore begun to remonstrate against a mode 
of conferring degrees which might confound them with persons 
altogether unworthy of the honour ; and their discontent had 
been aggravated by some late instances of notorious incapacity 
in Edinburgh doctors by favour. Thinking their complaints not 



444 APPENDIX. 

sufficiently attended to, some of the students of the longest 
standing had entered into a mutual engagement publicly to op- 
pose every future attempt at decorating with the degree of doc- 
tor of physic at Edinburgh any person who should not have stu- 
died there, and to take their own degrees elsewhere in case their 
opposition should prove unsuccessful. 

It happened that Mr. Pulteney was the first candidate under 
these circumstances, after this resolution was adopted. The sub- 
scribers handsomely expressed to him their concern that a per- 
son of his acknowledged merit should be the object of their op- 
position ; but they adhered to their determination. His reputation 
and interest carried him through the contest ; but he was (I be- 
lieve) the last in favour of whom the condition of studying at 
that individual seminary has been violated. And so sensible 
have the Edinburgh professors since become, that augmenting 
the credit of their university's degrees, and the difficulty of ob- 
taining them, was conducive to their own personal emolument, 
that they have extended the period of requisite study there from 
two to three years, and made it comprehend every set of lec- 
tures which can possibly be construed as belonging to a complete 
medical course ! 

As Dr. Pulteney had now assumed a new rank in the profes- 
sion, it was advisable that he should look out for a new situation. 
The first plan which suggested itself to his London friends, was 
to procure him an introduction to the celebrated earl of Bath, 
then in a very declining state of health. This was effected ; and 
the earl, upon inspection of his pedigree, recognised his descent 
from the aticientfamil}' of which his own was a branch. He also, 
upon conversing with him, was so favourably impressed with his 
professional and literary merits, that he resolved to attach him 
to himself in the character of domestic physician. He proposed 
to settle upon him an appointment of 400^. per annum ; and the 
connection would probably have been attended with mutual sa- 
tisfaction and advantage, had not the death of the earl followed 
so speedily that Dr. Pulteney received only one quarterly ad- 
vance of his intended salary. 

Not long after this event, a medical vacancy happening at 
Blandford, in Dorsetshire, he was urged by Dr. Watson, Dr. 
Baker, and others of his friends, to go down and occupy it. 
Provided with their warm recommendations, but an utter stran- 
ger to all the inhabitants of the town and its vicinity, he fixed 



APPENDIX. 445 

his abode in that spot whicii was to be his residence during the 
whole remainder of his life. A small country town, in the midst 
of a neighbourhood composed of the usual ingredients of provin- 
cial society, was not, perhaps, exactly the situation raost desira- 
ble to a man whose mind was enlarged by free speculation and 
scientiBc pursuit : but it was now ih: Pulteney's business to es- 
tablish himself in his professon ; and to that object, prudence 
required that sacrifices should be made. This is, indeed, the 
condition of all who have their way to make in the world ; and 
perhaps a just sense of true dignity of character, as well as re- 
gard to pecuniary advantage, should lead a man to place before 
him, as his primary object, the attainment of success in the pro- 
fession which he has chosen ; and to consider as secondary and 
subordinate all reputation or gratification derived from other 
sources. Dr. Pulteney, therefore, seems to have sat down with 
the resolution, not only ot fulfilling his medical duties with the 
utmost punctuality, but of avoiding every thing which might in 
the least degree involve him in ditterences with those on whose 
good opinion he was to depend. He was sensible that by his 
removal he had entirely changed his latitude ; and though he was 
not a man to shift his sentiments and language according to his 
company, yet he was constitutionally cautious, and could, with- 
out much effort, practise the allowable policy of silence. "Com- 
mune withthj'^ heart and be still," was the maxim of 36 years of 
his life. That it exerted its natural influence upon his charac- 
ter, will not be denied ; but it did not prevent him from being a 
very amiable, useful, and respectable member of society. 

The situation of Blandford had not hitherto afforded any great 
scope for medical practice; but Dr. Pulteney soon extended its 
limits. His reputation spread through the circumjacent country, 
and he received professional calls from the market and trading 
towns in a compass of twenty or thirty miles round his centre, 
as well as from many of the country families of principal dis- 
tinction in that part of the kingdom. As his industry was great, 
and his expenses were moderate, he began to accumulate pro • 
perty. He continued to live in a state of celibacy till October 
1779, when he married Miss Elizabeth Galton, of Blandford. He 
could not have chosen more fortunately for domestic happiness; 
and the addition this connection made to his co'.ntorts was pro- 
portionable to the want he had previously felt, of that society 
which alone can interest the heart. No children were the fruit 



446 APPENDIX. 

of this union ; but in the additional society of an amiable young 
relation of Mrs. Pulteney he enjoyed the pleasure of an adoptive 
parent. 

He continued to employ his leisure in occasional writings on 
topics of medicine and natural history. In 1772 he addressed a 
letter to his friend Dr. Watson (published in the Philosophical 
Transactions, vol. Ixii.) concerning the medicinal effects of the 
(Enanthe crocata, an unbelliferous plant of a poisonous nature, 
the juice of which was exhibited, by mistake, instead of that of 
tlie vv'ater-parsnep. In the Ixviiith volume of the same collec- 
tion, for 1778, he gave an accurate account of the bills of mortali- 
ty for the parish of Blandford during forty years past, with ob- 
servations. To the London Medical Journal, vol. v. he commu- 
nicated an account of the poisonous effects of the Hemlock Drop- 
wort (the CEnanthe crocata above mentioned.} 

He had hitherto appeared as an author only in detached me- 
moirs inserted in periodical publications. But in 1781 he ven- 
tured to offer to the public a separate volume, on a subject, indeed, 
with which no man could claim a more intimate acquaintance. 
This was "A General View of the Writings of Linngeus," 8vo. 
The purpose of this work was to afford an exact synopsis of all 
the labours of the great Swedish naturalist, who appears to have 
been the object of his warmest admiration. Along with the ac- 
count of his works, memoirs of his life are interwoven, chiefly 
extracted from the different writings of Linnseus. In the pre- 
fatory advertisement Dr. Pulteney speaks with great modesty 
of his performance, which, however, was very well received by 
the friends of natural history, and obtained for him the present of 
a medal from Stockholm, as an acknowledgment of the justice 
he had done to the fame of the illustrious Swede. Many ju- 
dicious observations and valuable points of information are 
interspersed in the work. It concludes with a synoptical ac- 
count of all the papers contained in the first seven volumes of 
the Amanitates Academicse. 

Some years afterwards a more extensive and original work^ 
proceeded from Dr. Pulteney's pen, and which must have cost 
him much varied research in its composition. This was his 
" Historical and Biographical Sketches of the Progress of Bota- 
ny in England, from its Origin to the Introduction of the Lin- 
nsean System ;" 2 vols. 8vo. 1790. He paid a just tribute to 
scientific merit in dedicating the first volume of this perform- 



APPENDIX. 44r 

ance to Sir Joseph Banks ; and a grateful return to long friend- 
ship, in inscribing the second to Sir George Baker and Dr. 
Garthshore. The work itself is highly valuable, as an example 
of that union of the history of men with that of an object of their 
common pursuit, which is so peculiarly interesting and instruc- 
tive. It has likewise made an addition to national biography, 
which will be duly prized by those who are attached to their 
country's reputation. It is marked throughout with that can- 
dour and disposition to commend which always characterised 
the amiable author. 

Whilst he was thus tracing the progress of his favourite 
science in books, he was by no means inattentive to the volume 
of nature as it lay displayed before him. The county in which 
he resided is considerably furnished with objects worthy the 
notice of the naturalist, especially in the fossil kingdom. How 
well he had made himself acquainted with these treasures, the 
present writer obtained a proof, which laid him under a parti- 
cular obligation. This was a brief but masterly account of the 
products of Dorsetshire, communicated to him for the use of his 
little work, entitled " England Delineated.'' He afterwards en- 
riched the second edition of Mr. Hutchins's "History of Dor- 
setshire" with a catalogue of the birds, shells, and plants ob- 
served in that county ; and during his last illness he had under 
revisal a plate of Dorsetshire fossils communicated by himself. 
The formation of a musfeum was the amusement of many years 
of his life. By gradual additions, he accumulated a store of na- 
tural productions in various classes, which was to him a perpetual 
source of pleasing contemplation, and will, doubtless, become to 
many students of nature a means of instruction, in the possession 
of the Linneean Society, to which it was bequeathed. 

Dr. Pulteney, in his latter years, frequently expressed a wish 
to retire from business, and take up his residence in the metro 
polis, for the sake of the scientific advantages with which it is so 
amply furnished ; but his habits of life were become too strong 
to permit him to resolve upon so great a change. He continued, 
though with diminished ardour, to follow his professional avo 
cations, till he was attacked with a pleuritic complaint, which, 
after great sufferings, put a period to his existence on October 
13th, 1801, at the age of 71. 

By his last will he gave a signal proof of the deep impression 
which his early friendships had made upon his mind, and which 



448 APPENDIX. 

no subsequent connections of common acquaintance could obli- 
terate or equal. After a hamlsonie provision for those who on 
every account were entitled to the first place in his remem- 
brance, the remaining objects of his liberality were some of the 
friends of his early days, and even the sons of those friends. He 
likewise paid a due attention to the claims of charity by be- 
quests to the Salisbury, Leicester, and Edinburgh infirmaries, 
and to the poor of the parish of Blandford ; and he displayed his 
regard to science by similar bounties to the Royal Societies of 
liondon and Edinburgh, and to the Linnsean Society. 

Such are the brief memoirs which I have been able to collect 
concerning Dr. Pulteney ; whose life aifords, indeed, but little 
biographical variety, but presents an encouraging picture of mo- 
dest merit gradually making its way to success, and science 
even of the most retired kind, becoming the passport to public 
esteem and reputation. 



APPENDIX. 449 



(E. p. 137.) 
MEMOIR 

OF 

GILBERT WAKEFIELD, B. A. 



LITERATURE has sustained a severe loss by the death of 
Gilbert Wakefield, B. A., carried oiFby a fever, in the 46th year 
of his age, to the unspeakable regret of his family and friends. 
A person in various respects so distinguished, is a proper sub- 
ject for the contemplation of survivors ; and he had deserved too 
well of the public not to be entitled to honourable and affection- 
ate commemoration. 

Mr. Wakefield, in " Memoirs of his own Life," published in 
1792, has informed the world of all the circumstances attending 
his education and passage through life down to that period, with 
a minuteness and frankness which render his work a very cu- 
rious and entertaining piece of biography. I shall not make any 
transcripts from it, but confining myself to a slight sketch of the 
leading events, shall take that view of his character and conduct 
which suggests itself to the reflection of a friendly but not a 
prejudiced by-stander. 

Gilbert Wakefield was born on February 22d, 1756, at 
Nottingham, of which town his father was one of the parochial 
clergy. An uncommon solidity and seriousness of disposition 
marked him from infancy, together with a power of application, 
and thirst after knowledge, which accelerated his progress in 
juvenile studies. In his grammatical course he passed under 
the tuition of several masters, the last and most respectable of 
whom was the Rev. Mr. Wooddeson, of Kingston-upon-Thaa)es, 
to which parish his father had then moved. He was used, how- 
SL 



450 APPENDIX. 

ever, to lament that he had not possessed the advantages of an 
uniform education at one of thoSe public schools, which undoubt- 
edly, whatever may be their dangers and deficiencies, eifect the 
point at which they exclusively aim, that of laying a solid foun- 
dation for classical erudition in its most exact form. In 1772, 
he was entered as a scholar of Jesus College, Cambridge ; and it 
was ever a topic of thankfulness to him, that he became a mem- 
ber of that university in which the love of truth met with some 
encouragement from a spirit of liberal inquiry, rather than of 
tiiat which was devoted either to supine indolence, or to the pas- 
sive inculcation of opinions sanctioned by authority. During the 
first years, his attention was chiefly fixed upon classical studies, 
always his favourites ; and he was excited only by emulation and 
academical requisitions to aim at that proficiency in mathema- 
tical knowledge which bears so high a value at Cambridge. Yet 
while he confesses himself destitute of a genuine taste for spec 
ulations of this kind, he scruples not to declare the infinite su- 
periority, in point of grandeur and sublimity, of mathematical 
philosophy to classical lucubrations. In 1776, he took his degree 
of B. A. on which occasion he was nominated to the second place 
among seventy-five candidates; and soon after, he was elected 
to a fellowship of his college. In the same year he published a 
small collection of Latin poems, with a few critical notes on 
Homer, at the University press. If not highly excellent, they 
were sufficient to establish the claim of a young man to more than 
ordinary acquaintance with the elegancies of literature. He had 
already obtained a knowledge of the Hebrew language, as pre- 
pai'atory to those theological studies which now became his most 
serious occupation ; and it may safely be affirmed that no man 
ever commenced them with a mind more determined upon the 
unbiassed search after truth, and the open assertion of it when 
discovered. The foundation which he laid for his inquiries was 
an accurate knowledge of the phraseology of the Scriptures, ac- 
quired by means of attention to the idiom in which they were 
written. As at this time some of his most esteemed academical 
friends manifested their dissatisfaction with the articles of the 
church of England by a conscientious refusal of subscription, it 
cannot be doubted that scruples on this point had already taken 
possession of his mindj and so far had his convictions proceed- 
ed, that he has stigmatised his compliance with the forms requi- 
site for obtaining deacon's orders, which he received in 1778, as 



APPENDIX. 451 

ihe most disingenuous action of his whole life." If, indeed, he 
could receive consolation from the practice of others, there were 
several of his intimate associates, who, by a superiority to such 
scruples, have since risen to opulence and distinction in the 
church, without betraying any uneasiness for a similar acquies- 
cence. 

Mr. Wakefield left college after ordination, and engaged in a 
curacy at Stockport, in Cheshire, whence he afterwards removed 
to a similar situation in Liverpool. He performed the duties of 
his office with seriousness and punctuality; but his dissatisfac- 
tion with the doctrine and worship of the church continuing to 
increase, he probably considered his connection with it as not 
likely to be durable. The disgust he felt at what he saw of the 
practice of privateering, and the slave-trade, in the latter place 
of his residence, also awakened in his mind that humane interest 
in the rights and happiness of his fellow-creatures, which has 
made so conspicuous a part of his character. The American 
war did not tend to augment his attachment to the political ad- 
ministration of his country; in short, he became altogether unfit 
to make one of that body, the principal business of which, in the 
opinion of many, seems to be, acting as the satellites of existing 
authority, however exerted. His marriage, in 1779, to Miss 
Watson, niece of the rector of Stockport, was soon followed by 
an invitation to undertake the post of classical tutor at the dis- 
senting academy at Warrington, with which he complied. That 
he was regarded as a very valuable acquisition to this institu- 
tion, — that he was exemplary in the discharge of his duty, and 
equally gained the attachment of his pupils, and the friendship 
and esteem of his colleagues, — the writer of this account can 
from his own knowledge attest. Being now freed from all cle- 
rical shackles, he began his career as a theological controversial- 
ist, and, it must be confessed, with an acrimony of style which 
was lamented by his friends, and which laid him open to the re- 
proach of his enemies. It is not here intended to vindicate what 
the writer himself cannot but disapprove ; but the real and sub- 
stantial kindness of Mr. Wakefield's temper, and the benevo- 
lence of his heart, were such, that this apparent contradiction 
must be solved by his warmth of zeal in what he thought the 
cause of truth, and perhaps by a familiarity with scholastic de- 
bates, which rendered hun in some measure callous to the use, 
or rather abuse, of vituperative expressions from the press. In 



452 APPENDIX. 

disputatious by word of mouth, no man was more calm and geu 
tie, more patient in hearing, or more placid in replying ; and if, 
in his writings, he has without hesitation or delicacy bestowed 
hiscensures, he has been equally liberal and decided in his praise. 
His applauses evidently came from the heart, free and unstinted, 
for envy did not possess a single particle in his composition ; nor 
has he withheld them when he thought them deserved by partic- 
ular laudable qualities, even in characters which he could not 
regard with general approbation. No man, perhaps, ever more 
fully gave way to the openness of his disposition in speaking the 
whole truth concerning men and things, unmoved by common, 
considerations ; whence it is not to be wondered at, that he fre- 
quently rendered himself more obnoxious to antagonists than the 
case essentially required, and roused prejudices which a more 
guarded conduct would have left dornjant. A sentence which, 
in his Memoirs, he has quoted from Asgill, expresses (as it was 
probably meant to do) the spirit with which he wrote. " A blunt 
author in pursuit of truth, knows no man after the flesh, till his 
chase is over. For a man to think what he writes, may bespeak 
\\\^ prudence : but to write what he thinks, best opens his prin- 
ciples." 

We shall not in this sketch attempt to give an account of all 
his publications, many of them small in bulk and temporary in 
their application. The most important of his theological labours 
will be allowed to be those in which he employs his eminent eru- 
dition in the explanation of Scripture. Of these, the first was 
" A New Translation of the First Epistle of Paul, the Apostle, 
to the Thessalonians," printed in 1781. It was followed in the 
next year by " A New Translation of St. Matthew, with Notes, 
critical, philological, and explanatory," 4to ; a work which ob- 
tained much applause, and amply displayed the extent of his 
reading, and the facility with which his memory called up its 
reposited stores for the purpose of illustration or parallelism. At 
this time he likewise augmented his fund for Scripture interpre- 
tation by the acquisition of various Oriental dialects. After quit- 
ting Warrington, at the dissolution of the academy, he took up 
hia residence successively at Bramcote in Nottinghamshire, at 
Richmond, and at Nottingham, upon the plan of taking a few 
pupils, and pursuing at his leisure those studies to which he be- 
came continually more attached. While in the first of these 
situations, he published the first volume of An Inquiry into the 



APPENDIX. 45n 

Opinions of the Christian Wrilers of the three first Centuries con 
cerning the Person of Jesus Christ, a learned and elaborate pei 
formance, but which did not meet with encouragement sufficient 
to induce him to proceed in the design. A painful disorder in 
his left shoulder, with which he was attacked in 1786, and which 
harassed him for two years, interrupted the course of his employ- 
ments; and he could do no more for letters during that period, 
than alleviate his sufferings by drawing up some remarks upon 
the Georgics of Virgil and the Poems of Gray, which he publish- 
ed with editions of those delightful compositions. As his health 
returned, his theological pursuits were resumed, and he again 
engaged in the field of controversy. He also, in 1789, made a 
commencement of a work, which promised much, as well for his 
regutation, as for the advantage of sacred literature. It was ^"lu 
Union of Theological and Classical Learning, illustrating the 
Scriptures by Light borroived from the Philology of Greece and 
Rome. Under the title of Silva Critica three parts of this per- 
formance have issued from the University press of Cambridge. 

The formation of a dissenting college at Hackney, which it 
was hoped, by the powerful aid of the metropolis, would become 
both more considerable and more permanent than former insti- 
tutions of a like kind, produced an invitation to Mr. Wakefield 
to undertake the classical professorship. With this he thought 
proper to comply ; and accordingly, in 1790, he quitted his abode 
at Nottingham, and removed to Hackney, upon the plan of join- 
ing with public tuition the instruction of private pupils. He has 
himself informed the public that "both of these anchors failed 
him, and left his little bark again afloat on the ocean of life." It 
is neither necessary nor desirable to revive the memory of dif- 
ferences between persons really respectable and well-intention- 
ed, but under the influence of different habits and views of things. 
We shall confine ourselves to a remark or two. 

Mr. Wakefield was a person who derived his opinions entirely 
from the source of his own reason and reflection, and it will not 
be easy to name a man who stood more single and insulated in 
this respect throughout life than he. Although his principles had 
induced him to renounce his clerical office in the church of Eng- 
land, and he had become a dissenter from her doctrine and wor- 
ship, yet he was far from uniting with any particular class of those 
who are u&^ally denominated dissenters. He had an insuperable 
repugnance to their mode of performing divine service ; and he 



454 APPENDIX. 

held in no high estimation the theological and philosophical 
knowledge which it has been the principal object of their semi- 
naries of education to communicate. It has already been ob- 
served, that the basis of his own divinity was philology. Clas- 
sical literature, therefore, as containing the true rudiments of 
all other science, was that on which he thought the greatest 
stress should be laid, in a system of liberal education. This 
point he inculcated with an earnestness which probably appear- 
ed somewhat dictatorial to the conductors of the institution. 

Further, in the progress of his speculations, he had been led 
to form notions concerning the expediency and propriety of pub- 
lic worship, extremely different from those of every body of 
Christians, whether in sects or establishments ; and as he was 
incapable of thinking one thing and practising another, he had 
sufficiently made known his sentiments on this subject, as well 
in conversation, as by abstaining from attendance upon every- 
place of religious assembly. They who were well acquainted 
with him, knew that in his own breast piety was one of the most 
predominant affections ; but the assembling for social worship 
had for so many ages been regarded as the most powerful in- 
strument for the support of general religion, that to discourage 
it was considered as of dangerous example, especially in a per- 
son engaged in the education of youth. Notwithstanding, 
therefore, his classical instructions in the college were received 
by the students almost with enthusiastical admiration, and con- 
ferred high credit on the institution, a dissolution of his connec- 
tion with it took place in the summer of 1791. 

The subsequent publication of his pamphlet on Public Wor- 
ship deprived him (as he says) of the only two private pupils he 
expected. From that period he continued to reside at Hacknej, 
in the capacity of a retired man of letters, employing his time 
partly in the education of his own children, partly in the com- 
position of works which will perpetuate his name among those 
who have cultivated literature with most ardour and success. 
His Translation of the New Testament, with Notes, 3 vols. 8vo. 
appeared towards the close of 1791, and was very respectably- 
patronised. In language it preserves as much as possible of 
the old version. Its numerous deviations from that in sense, 
will be regarded as happy alterations or bold innovations, ac- 
cording to the prepossessions of the reader. A long list might 
be given of his succeeding labours, but we shall only particular- 



APPENDIX. 455 

ise some of the most considerable. He printed (no longer at 
the Cambridge press) two more parts of his Silva Critica. He 
gave a new edition, much corrected, of his Translation of the 
New Testament; and besides, proved his zeal for Christianity, 
by enlarging a former work On the Evidences of the Christian 
Religion, and by replying to Thomas Paine's attack upon it in 
his Age of Reason. 

To the works of Pope, as our most cultivated English poet, 
and the most perfect example of that splendour and felicity of 
diction which is not attained without much study of the poetic 
art, Mr. Wakefijeld paid particular attention. It was his design 
to have published a complete edition of his works ; but after he 
had printed the first volume, the scheme was rendered abortive 
by Dr. Warton's edition. He, however, printed a second vo- 
lume, entitled Notes on Pope, and also gave a new edition of 
Pope's Hiad and Odyssey. In these publications he displayed 
all that variety of comparison and illustration, that power of 
tracing a poetical thought through different authors, with its 
successive shades and heightenings, and that exquisite feeling 
of particular beauties, which distinguish him as an annotator of 
the writers of Greece and Rome. 

As a classical editor he appeared in a selection from the 
Greek tragedians, in editions of Horace, Virgil, Bion and Mos- 
chus, and finally, in his Lucretius ; a vast performance, which 
alone might seem the labour of many industrious years. Of his 
character as a man of letters, I have been favoured with the fol- 
lowing estimate by an able judge, the Rev. E. Cogan of Ches- 
hunt: 

" In extent of erudition, particularly if an acquaintance with 
the oriental languages be taken into the account, he was per- 
haps inferior to no man of the present age ; and they who have 
been considered as having had the advantage over him in some 
of the less important minutiae of Greek literature, have probably 
limited their attention to fewer objects, and certainly commen- 
ced their literary course with a more advantageous preparation. 
In conjectural criticism he exhibits much of the character of 
Bentley and Markland : men whom he esteemed according to 
their high deserts in that species of learning to which his own 
mind was peculiarly directed.' Like these illustrious scholars, 
he is always learned, sometimes bold, and frequently happy. 
Like them, he had a mind which disdained to be held in a ser- 



456 APPENDIX. 

vile subjection to authority ; and in defiance of established read- 
ings, which too often substitute the dreams of transcribers for 
the gems of antiquity, he followed, without fear, wherever reason 
and probability seemed to lead the way. In his earlier critical 
works, he exhibited, amidst some errors which his riper judg- 
ment discarded, the promise of his future greatness: and even 
his faults were the infirmities of genius ; they flowed from that 
ardour and enthusiasm which cannot always wait for the slow 
decisions of cool inquiry. They were faults which, though they 
afforded a small consolation to dull malignity, did not diminish 
his praise in the estimation of one solid and impartial judge. 
His favourite study was poetry, and in an extensive acquain- 
tance with the ancient poets, both Greek and Roman, few men 
since the revival of letters have equalled him, and no one ever 
surpassed him in the perception of their beauties. When he 
applies to them the hand of conjecture, he rarely fails to give 
new spirit and animation by his touch ; and where we are oblig 
ed to dissent from his corrections, we are sometimes sorry for 
the credit of the poet that he does not appear to have v/ritten 
what the critic has suggested. He was peculiarly fond of trac- 
ing an elegance of poetical expression through the various mo- 
difications which it assumed in the hands of different writers, 
and in the illustration of ancient phraseology he did not over- 
look the poets of his own country, with many of which he was 
very familiar. His great work is undoubtedly his edition of 
jMcreiius, a work which ignorance may despise, at which malice 
may carp, and hireling scriblers may rail, but which will rank 
with the labours of Heinsius, Gronovius, Burman, and Heyne^ 
as long as literature itself shall live. It will share the predic- 
tion with which Ovid has graced the memory of the great poet 
himself: 

Carmina sublimis tunc sunt peritura Lucreti, 
Exitio terras cum dabit una dies. 

« Besides its critical merit, it exhibits the richest display of 
the ilowers of poetry that ever was presented to the world, and 
will amply reward the perusal of every man who has sensibility 
to relish the finest touches of human genius. 

"Mr. Wakefield, even before this immortal specimen of his 
talents, was deservedly held in the highest estimation by the li- 
terati of Germany ; and if his honours at home have not equalled 



APPENDIX. 

iiis reputation abroad, the candid mind will easily find tliL* ex 
planation of this phenomenon in the violence of political party, 
and the mean jealousy which has too often disgraced the scho 
lars of Great Britain. The name of Hentley is connected with 
proof enough of the justice of this insinuation." 

I shall now proceed to an incident of his life whicli will be 
viewed with regret by the ingenuous of all parties', the additional 
sensations it inspires will, of course, be different according to 
tlie particular sentiments of individuals. It has already been 
liinted that Mr. Wakefield, from the time of his residence at 
Liverpool, had begun to imbibe a detestation of that policy which 
trampled upon the rights of mankind, and was founded upon 
unfeeling avarice and unprincipled ambition. His study of 
Christianity more and more convinced him that the miixins of 
the world and those of religion were in direct opposition ; and, 
in common with many other excellent and learned men, he be- 
came persuaded of the absolute incompatibility of v/ar with the 
christian character. He had moreover received those principles 
of the origin and end of government, which, however they may 
now be regarded, were once thought fundamental to the British 
constitution, and the basis of all civil liberty. He had occasion- 
ally, in the political contests of his country, publicly expressed 
his opinions upon tliese subjects ; but the French revolution was 
an event calculated to call forth all his ardour in the cause. His 
sanguine temper led him to consider it as the undoubted com- 
mencement of a better order of things, in which rational liberty, 
equitable policy, and pure religion would finally become tiium- 
phant. He watched its progress with incredible interest, ex- 
cused its unhappy deviations, and abhorred the combination of 
arbitrary power which threatened its destruction. It was im- 
possible that he should refrain from employing his pen on the 
occasion, or that he should do it with a "cold and unperforming 
hand." In his Bemarks on the General Orders of the Duke of 
York, he had arraigned the justice of the war with France in 
terms which are supposed to have exercised the utmost forbear- 
ance of the Ministry. But in his " Reply to some Parts of the 
Bishop of Landaff's Address," he passed those limits. From 
that systematic progress in restraining the free communication 
of political opinions which may be traced in the acts of the late 
Ministry, it is not unreasonable to conclude, that a victim to the 
liberty of the press, of name and character sufiicient to inspire a 



458 APPENDIX. 

wide alarm, was really desired. Yet, as the aitoiney general' 
solemnly protested that his prosecution of this pamphlet M^as 
spontaneous, and solely dictated to him by the heinous and dan- 
gerous nature of its contents, it would be uncandid to call his 
assertion in question. A man of sense, however, maybe allow- 
ed to smile at the notion of real danger to supreme power, sup- 
ported as well by public opinion, as by every active energy of 
the state, from a private writer, arguing upon principles so little 
applicable to the practice of the world, as those of the Gospel. 
Further, a man of a truly liberal and generous mind will per- 
haps view, not without indignation, the thunders of the law hurl- 
ed upon a head distinguished for virtue and learning, without 
any humane allowance for well intentioned, if misguided, zeal. 
The attack commenced, not against the principal, who bold- 
ly and honestly came forward to avow himself, but against 
the agents ; and the grand purport of it was sufficiently de- 
clared by the superior severity with which a bookseller was 
treated, who was not the editor, but only a casual vender 
of the work ; but who had long been obnoxious as a distin- 
guished publisher of books of free inquiry. Mr. Wakefield 
himself next underwent prosecution 5 and his sentence, upon 
conviction, was a two years' imprisonment in Dorchester gaol. 
There exists no other measure of punishment in such a case than 
comparison, and perhaps, upon the application of this rule, it 
will not be found inordinately severe. Two years' abode in a 
prison is, however, a most serious infliction ! it is cutting off so 
much from desirable existence. Mr. Wakefield, notwithstand- 
ing his natural fortitude, felt it as such. Though, from his ha- 
bits of sobriety and seclusion, he had little to resign in respect 
of the ordinary pleasures of the world; his habits of pedestrian 
exercise, and his enjoyment of family comfort, were essentially 
infringed by confinement. He likewise found all his plans of 
study so deranged, by the want of his library, and the many in- 
commodities of his situation, that he was less able to employ 
that resource against tedium and melancholy than might have 
been expected. One powerful consolation, however, in addition 
to that of a good conscience, attended him. A set of warm and 
generous friends employed themselves in raising a contribution 
which should not only indemnify him fi:om any pecuniary loss 
consequent upon his prosecution, but should alleviate his cares 
foi' the future support of his family. The purpose was effected; 



APPENDIX. 459 

and it is to be hoped that Englishmen will ever retain spirit 
enough to take under their protection men who have faithfully, 
though perhaps not with due prudence and consideration, main- 
tained the noble cause of mankind against the frowns of authority. 

At length the tedious period elapsed, and the last day of May, 
1801, restored him to liberty. He was received by his friends, 
many of whom had visited him in prison, with the most cordial 
welcome. He was endeared to them by his sufferings, and his 
character was generally thought to have received a meliorating 
tinge of mildness and moderation from the reflection which had 
passed through his mind. He formed extensive plans for future 
literary labours, and he seemed fully capable of enjoying and 
benefiting that world to which he was returned. When — Oh, 
what is man ! — a fever, probably occasioned by his anxious exer- 
tions to fix himself in a new habitation, cut short all his pros- 
pects. From the first attack he persuaded himself that the ter- 
mination would be fatal, and this conviction materially opposed 
every attempt of medicine in his favour. He surveyed death 
without terror, and prepared for it by tender offices to the sur- 
vivor.s. The event took place on September the 9th. 

It is presumed that the character of Mr. Wakefield is suffici- 
ently developed in the preceding sketch of his life. It may, how- 
ever, be added, that there was in him an openness, a simplicity, 
a good faith, an aff'ectionate ardour, a noble elevation of soul, 
ivhich irresistibly made way to the hearts of all who nearly ap- 
proached him, and rendered him the object of friendly attach- 
ment, to a degree almost unexampled. Let this be placed in 
balance against all that might appear arrogant or self-sufficient, 
harsh, or irritable, in his literary conduct ! His talents were 
rare — his morals pure — his views exalted — his courage invinci= 
ble — his integrity without a spot. When will the place of such 
a man be supplied ! 



460 APPENDIX. 



^F. p. 142.; 
MEMOIR 

OF 

JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, L.L. 1). F.R.S. 



JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, L.L.D. F.R.S. and member of many 
foreign literary societies, was born on March iSth, old stjle, 
1733, at Field -head, in the parish of Birstall, in the West-riding 
of Yorkshire. His father was engaged in the clothing manufac- 
ture, and both parents were persons of respectability among the 
Calvinistic Dissenters. Joseph was from an early period brought 
up in the house of Mr. Joseph Keighley, who had married his 
aunt. A fondness for reading was one of the first passions he 
displayed ; and it probably induced his friends to change their 
intentions of educating him for trade, and destine him for a learn- 
ed profession. He was sent to a school at Batley, the master of 
which possessed no common share of erudition. Besides the 
Latin and Greek languages, he was capable of giving instruc- 
tions in the Hebrew ; and his pupil carried with him the know- 
ledge of all the three to the academy of Daventry ; at which he 
was entered, in his 19th year, as a student of divinity. This 
academy was the successor of that kept by Dr. Dodridge at 
Northampton, and was conducted by Dr. Ash worth, whose first 
pupil Mr. Priestley is said to have been. When about the age of 
twenty-two, he was chosen as an assistant minister to the Inde- 
pendent congregation of Needham-market in Suffolk. He had at 
this time begun to imbibe theological opinions different from 
those of the school in which he had been educated. He had like- 
wise become a student and admirer of the metaphysical philoso- 
phy of Hartley, of which, during life, he was the zealous advo 
cate and the acute elucidator. 



APPENDIX. 461 

After an abode of three years at Needham, he acceptad an in 
vitation to be pastor of a small flock at Naniptwich in Cheshire. 
There he opened a day-school, in the conduct of which he exhi 
bited that turn for ingenious research, and that spirit of improve- 
ment, which were to be his distinguishing cliaracteristics. He 
enlarged the minds of iiis pupils by philosophical experiments, 
and he drew up an English Grammar upon an improved plan, 
which was his earliest publication. His reputation as a man of 
uncommon talents and active inquiry soon extended itself among 
his professional brethren ; and when, upon the death of the Rev. 
Dr. Taylor, the tutor in divinity at Warrington academy, Dr. 
Aikin was chosen to supply his place, Mr. Priestley was invited 
to undertake the vacant department of belles-lettres. It was in 
1761 that he removed to a situation happily accommodated to 
his personal improvement, by the free society of men of large in- 
tellectual attainments, and to the display of his own various pow- 
ers of mind. He soon after made a matrimonial connection with 
Mary, daughter to Mr. Wilkinson of Bersham Foundry, near 
Wrexham ; a lady of an excellent heart, and a strong under- 
standing, and his faithful partner in all the vicissitudes of his 
life. 

At Warrington properly commenced the literary career of 
this eminent person, and a variety of publications soon announ- 
ced to the world the extent and originality of his pursuits. One 
of the first was a Chart of Biography, in which he ingeniously 
contrived to present an ocular image both of the proportional 
duration of existence, and of the chronological period and syn- 
chronism of all the most eminent persons of all ages and coun- 
tries, in the great departments of science, art, and public life. 
This was very favourably received, and suggested a second chart, 
of History, in like manner offering to the view the extent, time, 
and duration of states and empires. Subjects of history and gene- 
ral politics at this time engaged much of his attention. He de- 
livered lectures upon them, of which the substance w-as given to 
the world in various useful publications. His notions of govern- 
ment were founded on those principles of the original and inde- 
feasible rights of man, which are the sole basis of all political 
freedom. He was an ardent admirer of the British Constitution. 
according to his conceptions of it, and ably illustrated it in his 
lectures. 

With respect to his proper academical department of the belles - 



4G^ APFENDi:^. 

lettres, he elisplayed the enlargement of his views iu a set ot 
Lectures on tlie Theory and History of Language, and on the 
Principles of Oratory and Criticism ; in the latter of which, he 
successfully applied the Hartleian theory of association, to ob- 
jects of taste. Although his graver pursuits did not allow him 
to cultivate the agreeable parts of literature as a practitioner, he 
sufficiently showed, by some light and playful efforts, that he 
would have been capable of excelling in this walk, had he given 
his attention to it. But he was too intent upon things to expend 
his regards upon words, and he remained contented with a style 
of writing accommodated to the great business of instruction, of 
which the characteristics were accuracy and perspicuity. 

Fully as his time might seem occupied by the academical and 
literary employments above enumerated, he found means, by per- 
petual activity and indefatigable industry, to accomplish the first 
great work in natural philosophy, which laid a 'solid foundation 
for his fame in that department of human knowledge. Having 
long amused himself with an electrical machine, and taken an 
interest in the progress of discovery in that branch of physics, he 
was induced to undertake a History of Electricity, with an ac- 
count of its present state. As the science was of late date, and 
all its facts and theories lay within a moderate compass of read- 
ing, he thought it a task not beyond his powers to effect com- 
pletely what he proposed ; although his plan included an exten- 
sive course of experiment of his own, to verify what had been 
done bv others, and to clear up remaining doubts and obscuri- 
ties. It appears from his preface, that, while engaged in this 
design, he had enjoyed the advantage of personal intercourse 
with some eminent philosophers, among whom he acknowledges 
as coadjutors, Drs. Watson and Franklin, and Mr. Canton. The 
work first appeared at Warrington, in 1767, 4to; and so well 
w^s it received, that it passed into a fifth edition, in 4to. in 1794. 
It is indeed an admirable model of scientific history: full with- 
out superfluity ; clear, methodical, candid, and unaffected. Its 
original experiments are highly ingenious, and gave a foretaste 
of that fertility of contrivance and sagacity of observation which 
afterwards so much distinguished the author. 

It may be proper in this place to speak of Dr. Priestley's ge- 
neral character as an experimental philosopher. No person in 
this class can be met with who engaged in his inquiries with a 
more pure and simple love of truth, detached from all private 



APPENDIX. 403 

and selfish considerations of fame or advantage. Hence he was 
solicitous only that discoveries should be made, regardless by 
wliom they were made: and he was placed far beyond all that 
petty jealousy and rivalry which has so often led to the sup- 
pression of hints from casual observations, till the proprietor 
should have made the most of them for himself. On the con- 
trary, he was imijatient till all engaged in similar pursuits 
should be put upon the track which appeared to him most 
likely to lead to successful investigation. Having no favourite 
theories to support, he admitted indifterently facts of all appa- 
rent tendencies ; and felt not tlie least hesitation in renouncing 
an opinion hastily formed, for another, the result of maturer ex- 
amination. He regarded the whole field of knowledge as com- 
mon ground, to be cultivated by the united labour of individuals 
for the general benefit. In these respects he seems most to 
have resembled the excellent Stephen Hales, whom Haller just 
ly entitles " vir indefessiis, ad inveniendum vermn natus.''^ 

His connection with the Warrington academy ceased in 1768, 
when he accepted an invitation to officiate as pastor to a large 
and respectable congregation of protestant dissenters at Leeds, 
Considering himself now as more especially devoted to theology, 
he suffered that, which had always been his favourite object, to 
take the lead amidst his intellectual pursuits, though not to tlie 
exclusion of others. 

From infancy his mind had been strongly impressed with de- 
votional sentiments ; and although he had widely deviated from 
the doctrinal opinions which he had first imbibed, yet all the 
pious ardour and religious zeal of the sect among whom he was 
educated remained undiminished. He likewise retained in full 
force the principles of a dissenter from the Establishment, and 
those ideas of congregational discipline which had become obso- 
lete among many of the richer and more relaxed of the separa- 
tists. Numerous publications relative to these points soon 
marked his new residence. His " Institutes of Natural and Re- 
vealed Religion" gave, in a popular and concise form, his sys- 
tem of divinity with its evidences. His " View of the Princi- 
ples and Conduct OT the Protestant Dissenters" exhibited his 
notions of the grounds of dissent and the proper character and 
policy of a religious sect ; and a variety of controversial and po 
lemic writings presented to the world his views of the (Christian 
dispensation. 



Id4 APPENDIX. 

As a divine, if possible, still more than as a philosopher, truth 
was his sole aim, M'hich he pursued with a more exalted ardour, 
in proportion to the greater importance of the subject. Natu- 
rally sanguine, and embracing the conclusions of his reason with 
a plenitude of conviction that excluded every particle of doubt, 
he inculcated his tenets witli an earnestness limited by nothing 
but a sacred regard to the rights of private judgment in others as 
well as himself. The considerations of human prudence were no- 
thing in his eye, nor did he admit the policy of introduQing no- 
velties of opinion by slow degrees, and endeavouring to concili- 
ate a favourable hearing, by softening or suppressing what was 
most likely to shock prejudiced minds. He boldly and plainly 
uttered what he conceived to be the truth and the whole truth, 
secure, that by its own native strength it would in fine prevail, 
and thinking himself little responsible for any temporary evils 
that might be incurred during the interval. To adopt the beau- 
tiful and happy simile of one of his late vindicators, "he followed 
truth as a man who hawks, follows his sport; at full speed, 
straight forward, looking only upward, and regardless into what 
difficulties the chase may lead him.'' 

As pure religion was the great end of Dr. Priestley's labours, 
so perfect freedom of discussion was the means ; and since he 
was convinced that this could not be attained under the do^ 
niination of powerful and jealous establishments, interested in 
maintaining the particular system on which they were founded, 
he was a warm and open enemy to all unions of ecclesiastical 
with political systems, however modified and limited. In this 
respect, as in various others, he diffiered from many of his dissent- 
ing brethren ; and, while he was engaged in controversy with the 
Church, he bad to sustain attacks from the opposite quarter. 
But warfare of this kind he never feared or avoided : it cost him 
little expense of time, and none of spirits ; it even seemed as if 
such an exercise was salujtary to his mental constitution. 

Few readers of this sketch need be told that Dr. Priestley was 
at the head of the modern Unitarians; a sect, of which the lead- 
ing tenet is the proper humanity of Christ, and which confines 
every species of religious worship and adoration to the One Su- 
preme. If those who have charged him with infidelity meant an}' 
thing more than an inference from his avowed opinions on this 
head, and imagined that he intended more than he declared, ahd 
entertained a secret purpose of undermining the Christian IRe- 



APPENDIX. 4G5 

velation, they have been guilty of a calumny from which the least 
ejfertion of candour and penetration would have preserved them. 
They might have perceived that he was one who laid open his 
whole soul on every subject in which he was engaged ; and that 
teal for Christianity, as a divine dispensation and the most val- 
uable of all gifts bestowed upon the human kind, was his ruling 
passion. 

The favourable reception of the History of Electricily had in- 
duced Dr. Priestley to adopt the grand design of pursuing the 
rise and progress of the other sciences, in a historical form ; and 
much of his time'at Leeds was occupied in his second work upon 
this plan, entitled The History and present State of Discoveries 
relating to Vision, Light, and Colours, which appeared in 2 vols. 
4to. 1772. This is allowed to be a performance of great merit; 
possessing a lucid arrangement, and that clear, perspicuous view 
of his subject which it was the author's peculiar talent to afford. 
It failed, however, of attaining the popularity of his History of 
Electricity, chiefly because it was impossible to give adequate 
notions of many parts of the theory of optics without a more ac- 
curate acquaintance with mathematics than common readers can 
be supposed to possess. Perhaps, too, the writer himself was 
scarcely competent to explain the abstruser parts of this science. 
It proved to be. the termination of his plan : but science was no 
loser by the circumstance ; for the activity of his mind was turn- 
ed from the consideration of the discoveries of others, to the at- 
tempt of making discoveries of his own, and nothing could be 
more brilliant than his success. We find that at this period he 
had begun those experiments upon air, which have given the 
greatest celebrity to his name as a natural philosopher. 

In 1770, Dr. Priestley quitted Leeds for a situation as differ- 
ent as could well be imagined. His philosophical writings, and 
the recommendation of his friend Dr. Price, had made him so fa- 
vourably known to the Earl of Shelburne (afterwards Marquis of 
Lansdown) that this nobleman, one of the very few in this coun- 
try who have assumed the patronage of literature and science, 
made him such advantageous proposals for residence with him, 
that regard to his family would not permit them to be rejected. 
It was merely in the capacity of his Lordship's librarian, or ra- 
ther, his literary and philosophical companion, in the hours that 
could be devoted to such pursuits, that Dr. Priestley became an 
inmate with him. The domestic tuition of Lord Shelburne's sons 
3N 



46b APPENDIX. 

was alreaily committed to a man of merit, aud tl^e}' received 
from J)r. Priestley no other instruction than that of some courses 
of experimental philosophy. During this period, his family re- 
sided at Calne, in Wiltshire, adjacent to Bow-wood, the country 
scat of Lord Shclburne. Dr. Priestley frequently accompanied 
his noble patron to London, and mixed at his house with several 
of the eminent characters of the time, by whom he was treated 
with the respect due to his talents and virtues. He also attended 
his Lordship in a visit to Paris, where he saw many of the most 
celebrated men of science and letters in that country ; and he as 
tonished them by his assertion of a firm belief in revealed reli- 
gion, which had been presented to their minds in such colours, 
that they thought no man of sense could hesitate in rejecting it 
as an idle fable. 

Whilst he was enjoying the advantages of this situation, in 
every assistance from books and a noble apparatus for the pur- 
suit of experimental inquiry, he also appeared in the height ot 
his fame as an acute metaphysician. In 1775, he published his 
Eoramination of Dr. Reid on the Human Mind ; Dr. Bealtie on 
the Nature and Immutability of Truths and Dr. Oswald's Sp- 
peal to Common Sense. The purpose of this volume was to re- 
fute the new doctrine of common sense, employed as the criterion 
of truth by the metaphysicians of Scotland, and to prepare the 
way for the reception of the Hartleian theory of the human mind, 
which he was then engaged in presenting under a more popular 
and intelligible form. They who conceive Dr. Priestley to have 
been triumphant in argument on this occasion, agree in disap' 
proving (as he himself did afterwards) the contempt and sar- 
casm with which he treated his antagonists, which they do not 
think excused by the air of arrogance and self-sufficiency as- 
sumed by these writers in their strictures upon other reasoners, 
But tliis was not the only instance in which he thought it allow- 
able to enliven the dryness of controversy by strokes of ridicule. 
He never intentionally misrepresented either the arguments or 
the purposes of an opponent ; but he measured the respect with 
which he treated him, by that which he felt for him in his own 
mind. 

In his publication of Hartley's Theory he had expressed some 
doubts as to the common hypothesis, that man possesses a soul, 
or immaterial substance, totally distinct from his body. For this 
opinion he had undergone obloquy as a favourer of atheism ; but 



APPENDIX. 467 

rts no personal imputation was of weight with hiin in the pursuit 
of what he thought to be the truth, he did not scruple in 1777, to 
publish Disquisitions relating to Matter and Spirit, in which he 
gave a history of the philosophical doctrine concerning the soul, 
and openly supported the material system, which makes it homo 
geneous with the body. Perhaps, of all Dr. Priestley's devia- 
tions from received opinions, this has subjected him to the 
greatest odium, and has most startled the true friends of reason 
and free inquiry, on account of its supposed consequences. The 
natural proofs of a future state appear to be so much invalidated 
by the rejection of a separate principle, the seat of thouglit, 
which may escape from the perishing body to which it is tempo- 
rarily united, that he seemed to have been employed in demo- 
lishing one of the great pillars upon which i-eligion is founded. 
It is enough here to observe, that, in Dr. Priestley's mind, the 
deficiency of these natural proofs only operated as an additional 
argument in favour of revelation ; the necessity of which, to sup- 
port the most important point of human belief, was thereby ren- 
dered more strikingly apparent. It may be added, that as he 
materialised spirit, so he, in some measure, spiritualised matter, 
by assigning to it penetrability and other subtle qualities. 

At this time he also appeared in great force as the champion 
of the doctrine of philosophical necessity ; a doctrine not less 
obnoxious to many, on account of its supposed effects on morali- 
ty, than the former. To him, however, it was the source (as he 
always asserted) of the highest satisfaction, both religious and 
moral ; and a number of his followers have found it, in like man- 
ner, compatible with all the best principles of human conduct. 
With his intimate friend. Dr. Price, whose opinions in both the 
last mentioned points were radically different from his, a corres- 
pondence relative to them took place, which was published in a 
volume, and affords a most pleasing example of debate, carried 
on with perfect urbanity, and every token of mutual respect and 
affection. 

Such was the wonderful compass and versatility of his mind, 
that at this very period he was carrying on that course of dis- 
covery concerning aeriform bodies, which has rendered his name 
so illustrious among philosophical chemists. In the Philosophi- 
cal Transactions for 1773, we find a paper containing "Obser- 
vation on different Kinds of Air,'' by Dr. Priestley j which ob- 
tained the honorary prize of Copley's medal. These were re- 



468 APPENDIX. 

printed, M'itb many important additions, in the first volume ot 
his Experiments and Observations on different Kinds of Air, 8vo. 
1774. A second volume of this work was published in 1775, and 
a third in 1777. To give the slightest view of the original mat- 
ter is these volumes, would occupy more time and space than 
this sketch permits ; but it may with justice be affirmed, that 
they added a greater mass of fact to the history of aeriform fluids 
than the united labours of all others employed upon the same 
subject. Some of the most striking of his discoveries were those 
of nitrous, and dephlogisticated, or pure, air ; of the restoration 
of vitiated air by vegetation ; of the influence of light on vege- 
tables, and of the effects of respiration upon the blood. In these 
volumes he did not attempt theory or systematic arrangement, 
thinking that the knowledge of facts was not sufficiently ad- 
vanced for that purpose ; and he threw them out hastily as new 
matter occurred, in pursuance of his liberal principle already- 
noticed, that fellow-labourers in matters of science should as 
soon as possible be apprised of discoveries which might putthera. 
in the track of making others. 

The name of Priestley was by these publications spread through 
all the enlightened countries of Europe, and honours from sci- 
entific bodies in various parts were accumulated upon him. The 
votaries of physical science now, doubtless, flattered themselves, 
that the ardour of his powerful mind was durably fixed upon the 
advancement of natural philosophy and chemistry; but an inti- 
mation at the close of the last volume, of his intention to inter- 
mit those pursuits in order to engage in otlier speculative topics, 
sufficiently proved to all who knew, that experimental inquiries 
could occupy only a secondary place in his mind. These other 
and more favourite topics, were ihe metaphysical theories which 
have been already mentioned, and the theological discussions 
which he resumed with fresh zeal and industry. The continu- 
ation of his Institutes of Religion ; his Letters to a Philosophi- 
cal Unbeliever ; his Harmony of the Evangelists ; and various 
tracts on moral and religious topics, marked his return to his 
former studies. 

The term of his engagement with Lord Shelburne having ex- 
pired. Dr. Priestley, with a pension for life of 150/. per annum, 
was at liberty to choose a new situation. 

He gave the preference to the neighbourhood of the populous 
town of Birmingham, chiefly induced by the advantages it afford- 



APPENDIX. 469 

ed, from the nature of its manufactures, to the pursuit of che- 
mical experiments. It was also the residence of several men of 
science ; among whom the names of Watt, Withering, Bolton, 
4nd Keir, are well known to the public. With these he was soon 
tipon terms of friendly reciprocation of knowledge and mutual 
aid in research; and their Lunarian Club presented a constella- 
tion of talent which would not easily have been assembled even 
in the metropolis. 

He had not long occupied his new habitation, before he was 
invited to undertake the office of pastor to a congregation of 
Dissenters in Birmingham, upon which he entered with great sa- 
tisfaction towards the close of 1780. He found a society cordially 
attached to his person and doctrines ; and he merited their es- 
teem by the most assiduous performance of all the pastoral du- 
ties. Some of the most important of his theological works soon 
issued from the Birmingham press. Of these were his Letters 
to Bishop Newcome, on the Duration of ChrisVs Ministry ; and 
his History of the Corruptions of Christianity ; afterwards fol- 
lowed by Ills History of Early Opinions. Controversies upon 
theological topics multiplied around him, to all of which he paid 
the attention they seemed to require. The warm disputes which, 
took place on occasion of the applications of the Dissenters for 
relief from the disabilities and penalties of the Corporation and 
Test Acts, supplied a new subject of contest into which he could 
not forbear to enter, both as a friend to toleration in general, 
and as one ol the body aggrieved. His hostility to the Estab- 
lishment became more decided, and he appealed to the people on 
the points of difference, in his Familiar iMters to the Inhabitants 
of Birmingham, written with much force, but with his usual dis- 
regard of caution. 

Little has hitherto been said of the political exertions of Dr. 
Priestley, which, indeed, form no conspicuous part of his literary 
life. He had displayed his attachment to freedom by his Essay 
on the first Principles of Government, and by an anonymous pam- 
phlet on the state of public liberty in this country; and had 
shown a warm interest in the cause of America at the time of its 
unfortunate rupture with the mother country. The French revo- 
lution was an event which could scarcely fail of being contem- 
plated by him with satisfaction. His sanguine hopes saw in it 
the dawn of light and liberty over Europe; and he particularly 
expected from it the eventual downfal of all establishments 



4.0 APPENDIX. 

inimical to tlie spread of truth. Such expectations he was at no 
pains to conceal ; and as parties now began to take their decided 
stations, and to be inspired with all the usual rancour of oppo- 
nents in civil contests, he was naturally rendered a prominent 
mark of party hatred. 

In this state of mutual exasperation, the celebration of the an- 
niversary of the destruction of the Bastille, by a public dinner, 
on July 14th, 1791, at which Dr. Piie&Uey was not present, gave 
the signal of those savage riots, which have thrown lasting dis- 
grace on the town of Birmingham, and in some degree on the 
national character. Amid the conflagration of houses of worship 
and private dwellings. Dr. Priestley was the great object of pop- 
ular rage ; his house, library, manuscripts, and apparatus, were 
made a prey to the flames ; he was hunted like a proclaimed 
criminal, and experienced not only the furious outrages of a mob, 
but the most unhandsome treatment from some who ought to 
have sustained the parts of gentlemen, and friends of peace and 
order. 

It would be painful to dwell upon these scenes. Suffice it to 
say, that he was driven for ever from his favourite residence ; that 
his losses were very inadequately compensated ; and that he 
passed some time as a wanderer, till an invitation to succeed Dr. 
Price in a congregation at Hackney gave him a new settlement. 
This was rendered more interesting to him by a connection with 
the new dissenting-college established at that place. His mind^, 
by its native elasticity, recovered from the shock of his cruel 
losses, and he resumed his usual labours. 

This was, however, far from being a season of tranquillity. 
Parties ran high, and events were daily taking place calculated 
to agitate the mind, and inspire varied emotions of tumultuous 
expectation. Dr. Priestley, however he might be regarded by the 
friends of government, had no reason to entertain apprehensions 
for his personal safety on the part of authority; but he was con- 
scious that he lay under a load of public odium and suspicion, 
and he was perpetually harassed by the petty malignity of bigotry. 
Having so lately been the victim of a paroxysm of popular rage, 
he could not be perfectly easy in the vicinity of a vast metropo- 
lis, where any sudden impulse given to the tumultuous mass 
might bring irresistible destruction upon the heads of those who 
should be pointed out as objects of vengeance. It is not, there- 
fore, to be wondered at, that he looked towards an asylum in a 



APPENDIX. 471 

c-ountry to whicli he had always shown a friendly attachment, and 
which was in possession of all the blessings of civil and religious 
liberty. Some family reasons also enforced this choice of a new 
situation. He took leave of his native country in 1794, and em- 
barked for North America. He carried with him the sincere re- 
grets of a great number of venerating and aifectionate friends 
and admirers; and his departure, while celebrated as a triumph 
by unfeeling bigots, was lamented by the moderate and impartial, 
as a kind of stigma on the country which, by its ill treatment, 
had expelled a citizen whom it might enrol among its proudest 
boasts. 

Northumberland, a town in the inland parts of the state ot 
Pennsylvania, was the place in which he fixed his residence. It 
was selected on account of the purchase of landed property in 
its neighbourhood ; otherwise, its remoteness from the sea ports, 
its want of many of the comforts of civilised life, and of all the 
helps to studious and scientific pursuit, rendered it a peculiarly 
undesirable abode tor one of Dr. Priestley's habits and employ- 
ments. The loss of his excellent wife, and of a very promising 
son, together with repeated attacks of disease and other calami- 
ties, severely tried the fortitude and resignation of this christian 
philosopher; but he had within him what rendered him superior 
to all external events, and pious serenity was the settled temper 
of his soul. 

In America he was received, if not with the ardour of sympa- 
thy and admiration, yet with general respect ; nor were the angry 
contests of party able lastingly to deprive him of the esteem due 
to his character. If he had any sanguine hopes of diffusing his 
religious principles over the new continent ; or if his friends ex- 
pected that the brilliancy of his philosophical reputation should 
place him in a highly conspicuous light among a people yet in the 
infancy of mental culture, such expectations were certainly dis- 
appointed. He was, however, heard as a preacher by some of the 
most distinguished member^ of Congress ; and he was offered, 
but declined, the place of chemical professor at Philadelphia. It 
became his great object to enable himself in his retirement at 
Northumberland to renew that course of philosophical experi- 
ment, and especially that train of theological writing, which had 
occupied so many of the best years of his life. By indefatigable 
pains he got together a valuable apparatus and well furnished 



47£ APPENDIX. 

library, and cheerfully returned to his former employments. By 
many new experiments on the constitution of airs, he became 
more and more fixed in his belief of the phlogistic theory, and in 
his opposition to the new French chemical system, of which he 
lived to be the sole opponent of note. The results of several of 
his inquiries on these topics were given, both in separate publi- 
cations, and in the American Philosophical Transactions. A 
number of pamphlets on dift'erent occasions of controversy fell 
from his pen ; and by his comparisons of the Jewish with the 
Mahometan and Hindoo religions, and of the characters of Christ 
and Socrates, he endeavoured to strengthen the bulwarks of re- 
velation. The liberal contributions of his friends in England 
enabled him to commence the printing of two extensive works, 
on which he was zealously bent, a Church History, and an Ex- 
position of the Scriptures^ and through the progress of his final 
decline he unremittingly urged their completion. 

The circumstances attending the close of his useful and ex- 
emplary life are related with such interesting simplicity in the 
following article of the Philadelphia Gazette, that every one 
must receive pleasure from reading the narrative entire. 

" Since his illness at Philadelphia, in the year 1801, he never 
regained his former good state of health. His complaint was 
constant indigestion, and a difficulty of swallowing food of any 
kind. But during this period of general debility, he was busily 
employed in printing his Church History, and the first volume 
of his Notes on the Scriptures, and in making new and original 
experiments. During this period, likewise, he wrote his pam- 
phlet of Jesus and Socrates compared, and re-printed his Essay 
on Phlogiston. 

"From about the beginning of November, 1803, to the middle 
of January, 1804, his complaint grew more serious ; yet, by ju- 
dicious medical treatment, and strict attention to diet, he, after 
some time, seemed, if not gaining strength, at least not getting 
worse; and his friends fondly hoped that his health would con- 
tinue to improve as the season advanced. He, however, consi- 
dered his life as very precarious. Even at this time, besides his 
miscellaneous reading, which was at all times very extensive, he 
read through all the works quoted in his Comparison of the dif- 
ferent Systems of Grecian Philosophers with Christianity ; com- 
posed that work, and transcribed the whole of it in less than 



APPENDIX. 47S 

three months; so that he has left it ready for the press. During 
this period he composed, in one day, his Second Reply to Dr. 
Linn. 

" In the last fortnight of January, his fits of indigestion became 
more alarming, his le<j;s swelled, and his weakness increased. 
Within two days of his deatli he became so weak, that he could 
walk but a little way, and that with great difliculty. For some 
time he found himself unable to speak ; but, on i-ecovering a 
little, he told his friends, that he had never felt more pleasantly 
during his whole life time, than during the time he was unable 
to speak. He was fully sensible that he had not long to live, yet 
talked with cheerfulness to all who called on him. In the course 
of the day he expressed his thankfulness at being permitted to 
die quietly in his family, without pain, and with every conveni- 
ence and comfort that he could wish for. He dwelt upon the 
peculiarly happy situation in which it had pleased the Divine 
Being to place him in life, and the great advantage he had en- 
joyed in the acquaintance and friendship of some of the best 
and wisest men of the age in which he lived, and the satis- 
faction he derived from having led an useful as well as happy 
life. He this day gave directions about printing the remainder 
of his iVo^es on Scripture, (a work, in the completion of which he 
was much interested) and looked over the first sheet of the third 
volume, after it was corrected by those who were to attend to its 
completion, and expressed his satisfaction at the manner of its 
being executed. 

" On Sunday, the 5th, he was much weaker, but sat up in an 
arm chair for a few minutes. He desired that John, chap. xi. 
might be read to him : he stopped the reader at the 45th verse, 
dwelt for some time on the advantage he had derived from read- 
ing the Scriptures daily, and recommended this practice, saying, 
that it would prove a source of the purest pleasure. * We shall 
all (said he" meet finally, we only require different degrees of 
discipline suited to our different tempers, to prepare us for final 

happiness.' Mr. coming into his room, he said ' You see. 

Sir, I am still living.' Mr. observed, 'that he would always 

live.' 'Yes, I believe I shall; we shall meet again in another 
and a better world.' He said this with great animation, laying 

hold of Mr. 's hand in both his own. After evening prayers, 

when his grand-children were brought to his bed side, he spoke 
30 



474 APPENDIX. 

to them separately, and exhorted them to continue to love each 
other, &c. 'I am going (added he) to sleep as well as you, for 
death is only a good long sound sleep in the grave, and we shall 
meet again.' 

" On Monday morning, the 9th of February, on being asked 
how he did, he answered in a faint voice, that he had no pain, 
but appeared fainting away gradually. About eight o'clock, he 
desired to have three pamphlets which had been looked out by 
his directions the evening before. He then dictated as clearly 
and distinctly as he had ever done in his life, the additions and 

alterations which he wished to have made in each. Mr. took 

down the substance of what he said, which was read to him. He 
observed, • fcir, you have put in your own language, I wish it to 
be mineJ' He then repeated over again, nearly word for word, 
what he had before said, and when it was transcribed, and read 
over to him, he said, * That is right, I have now done.' 

" About half an hour after, he desired that he might be remov- 
ed to a cot. About ten minutes after he was removed to it, he 
died ; but breathed his last so easily, that those who were sitting 
close to him did not immediately perceive it. He had put his 
hand to his face, which prevented them from observing it." 

This was indeed " the death of the righteous !" and it is pre- 
sumed, that no one possessed of generous and tender feelings, 
how much soever diftering in opinion from the deceased, will re- 
frain from embalming his memory with a tear, and crying " Peace 
be with him !" 

In Dr. Priestley's mental constitution were united ardour and 
vivacity of intellect, with placidity and mildness of temper. 
With a zeal for the propagation of truth, that would have car- 
ried him through fire and water, he joined a calm patience, an 
unruffled serenity, which rendered him proof against all obstruc- 
tions and disappointments. It has been suggested, that a man 
so much in earnest, and so vigorous in controversial warfare, 
could not fail of being a persecutor, should his party gain the 
superiority : but this was an erroneous supposition. Not only 
were the rights of private judgment rendered sacred to him by 
every principle of his understanding, but his heart would not 
have suffered him to have injured his bitterest enemy. He was 
naturally disposed to cheerfulness, and when his mind was not 
occupied with serious thoughts, could unbend, with even playful 



APPENDIX. 475 

ease and negligence, in the private circle of friends. In large 
and mixed companies he usually spoke little. In the domestic 
relations of life he was uniformly kind and affectionate. His pa- 
rental feelings (alas ! how keenly were they excited !) were those 
of the tenderest and best of fathers. Not malice itself could 
ever fix a stain on his private conduct, or impeach his integrityo 
Such was the man who adds one more imperishable name to 
,the illustrious dead of his country. 



47b APPENDIX. 



(G. p. L43.) 

MEMOIR 

or 

1) ii. c r R R I E. 



JAMES CURRIE, M. D. was born at Kirkpatrick-Fleming 
iu Dumfriesshire, on May 31st, 1756. His father was the esta- 
blished minister of that parish, whence he afterwards removed to 
that of Middlebie. Dr. Currie was an only son : of six sisters, 
two alone are now surviving. He received the rudiments of 
learning at the parish school of his native place, whence he was 
transferred to the grammar school of Dumfries, one of the most 
reputable seminaries of the kind in Scotland. His original des- 
tination was for a commercial life, and he passed some years of 
his youth in Virginia in a mercantile station. Disliking this pro- 
fession, and unwilling to be a witness of the impending troubles 
in the American colonies, he quitted that country in 1776, and 
in the following year commenced a course of medical study at 
the university of Edinburgh, which occupied him almost without 
interruption for three years. A prospect of an appointment in 
the medical staff of the army, which would not admit of the usual 
delay of an Edinburgh graduation, induced him to take the de- 
gree of Doctor of Physic at Glasgow. He arrived, however, in 
London too late for the expected post; but still determining to 
go abroad, he had taken his passage in a'ship for Jamaica, when 
a severe indisposition prevented his sailing, and entirely changed 
his lot in life. He renounced his first intention ; and, after some 
consideration respecting an eligible settlement, he fixed upon the 
commercial and rapidly increasing town of Liverpool, which be 
came his residence from the year 1781. 



APPENDIX. 477 

The liberal and enlightened character which has long distin- 
guished many of the leading inhabitants of that place, rendered 
it a peculiarly favourable theatre for the display of tlie moral and 
intellectual endowments for whicli Dr. Currie was conspicuous, 
and he soon rose into general esteem. Indeed, it was not pos- 
sible, even upon a casual acquaintance, for a judge of mankind 
to fail of being struck by his manly urbanity of behaviour, by the 
elegance and variety of his conversation, by the solid sense and 
sagacity of his remarks, and by the tokens of a feeling heart, 
which graced and dignified the qualities of his understanding. 
No man was ever more highly regarded by his friends ; no phy- 
sician ever inspired more confidence and attachment in his pa 
tients. 

In 1783, Dr. Currie made a very desirable matrimonial con- 
nection with Lucy, the daughter of William Wallace, Esq. an 
Irish merchant in Liverpool. Of this marriage a numerous and 
amiable family v/as the fruit, by which his name promises to be 
worthily perpetuated. His professional employment rapidly in- 
creased ; be was elected one of the physicians of the Infirmary, 
and took his station among the distinguished characters of the 
place of his residence. 

His first appearance from the press was on occasion of the la- 
mented death of his intimate friend Dr. Bell, a young physician 
of great hopes settled at Manchester. His elegant and interest- 
ing tribute to the memory of this person was published, in 1785, 
in the first volume of the Transactions of the Manchester Philo- 
sophical and Literary Society, of which they were b'»th members. 
He was elected a member of the London Medical Society in 1790, 
and communicated to it a paper " On Tetanus and Convulsive Dis- 
orders," published in the third volume of its Memoirs. In 1792, 
he became a fellow of the Royal Society. A very curious and 
instructive " Account of the remarkable effects of a Shipwreck," 
communicated by him to that body, was published in the Philo 
sophical IVansactions of that year. 

The mind of Dr. Currie was not made to be confined to a nar 
row range of speculation, and Hothing interesting to human so 
ciety was indifferent to, or unconsidered by him. The war with 
France consequent to its great revolutionary struggle, was re- 
garded by him, as it was by many other philanthropists, with dis 
approbation, with respect as well to its principles, as to its pro 
bable effect on the happiness of both countries. A pamphlet 



478 APPENDIX. 

which appeared in 1793, under the title of Ji Letter Commercial 
and Political addressed to the Right Hon. William Pitt, by Jas- 
per Wilson, Esq. was generally understood to proceed from his 
pen. The energy of language, the weight of argument, and the 
extent of information displayed in it, drew upon it a large share 
of notice. It soon attained a second edition, and various answers 
attested the degree of importance attached to it in the public 
estimation. One of the respondents took the unwarrantable li- 
berty of directly addressing Dr. Currie, in print, as the author, 
at the same time affecting on very slender grounds the famili- 
arity of an intimate acquaintance. It can scarcely be doubted 
that this infringement of the rules of liberal controversy was 
prompted by the malignant purpose of exposing Dr. Currie to 
popular odium, and injuring him in his profession. He under- 
stood it thus, but the particular line of his principal connections, 
together with the solid basis of the character he had established, 
enabled him to despise the efforts of party malice. 

The greater distinction a professional man acquires from pur- 
suits not belonging to his profession, the more necessary it be- 
comes for him to bring himself into notice as a successful votary 
of the art or science to which his primary attention is due. Of 
this point Dr. Currie was very far from being neglectful. To 
those who employed him he was abundantly known as a skilful 
and sedulous practitioner, and the medical papers he had already 
published gave him reputation among his brethren. This repu- 
tation was widely extended and raised to an eminent degree by 
a publication which first appeared in October, 1797, entitled. 
Medical Reports on the Effects of Water cold and warm as a Re- 
medy in Febrile Diseases ; with Observations on the Nature of 
Fever, and on the Effects of Opium, Alcohol, and Inanition. The 
practice of affusion of cold water in fevers, which is the leading 
topic in this work, was suggested to the author by Dr. Wright's 
narrative in the London Medical Journal of his successful treat- 
ment of a fever in a homeward bound ship from Jamaica. Dr, 
Currie copied and greatly extended it, and investigated the prin- 
ciples by which its use should be directed and regulated. He 
discovered that the safety and advantage of the application 
of cold was proportionate to the existing augmentation of the 
animal heat, and he found the thermometer a very valuable in- 
strument to direct the practitioner's judgment in febrile cases. 
He may, therefore, be considered as the principal author of a 



APPENDIX. 479 

practice which has already been attended with extraordinary 
success in numerous instances, and bids fair to prove one of the 
greatest medical improvements in modern times. The work, 
which contained many ing;enious speculations and valuable ob- 
servations, was very generally read and admired. A new vol- 
ume was added to it in 1804, consistins of much interestins 
matter on diiferent topics, especially in confirmation of the doc- 
trine and practice of the former volume respecting cold affusion. 
The free and successful employment of this remedy in the scar- 
latina was one of its most important articles. The author had 
the satisfaction of receiving numerous acknowledgments of the 
benefit derived from his instructions both in private and in naval 
and military practice. He himself was so much convinced of 
the utility of the methods he recommended, that a revision of 
the whole work for a new edition was one of the latest labours oi 
his life. 

Dr. Ctirrie might now, without danger to his professional cha 
racter, indulge his inclination for the ornamental parts of litera- 
-ture ; and an occasion offered in which he had the happiness of 
rendering his taste and his benevolence equally conspicuous. On 
a visit to his native country in 1792, he had become personally 
acquainted with that rustic son of genius Robert Burns. This 
extraordinary but unfortunate man having, at his death, left his 
family in great indigence, a subscription was made in Scotland 
for their immediate relief, and at the same time a design was 
formed of publishing an edition of his printed works and remains 
for their emolument. Mr. Syme of Ryedale, an old and intimate 
friend of Dr. Currie, strongly urged him to undertake the office 
of editor ; and to this request, in which other friends of the poet's 
memory concurred, he could not withhold his acquiescence, not- 
withstanding his multiplied engagements. In 1800, he published 
in 4 volumes, 8vo. The Works of Robert Burns, ivith an Account 
of his Life, and a Criticism on his Writings : to which are pre- 
fixed some Observations on the Character and Condition of the 
Scottish Peasantry. These volumes were a rich treat to the lo- 
vers of poetry and elegant literature ; and Dr. Currie's part in 
,them, as a biographer and critic, was greatly admired, as well 
ibr beauty of style as for liberality of sentiment and sagacity of 
remark. If any objection was made to him as an editor on ac- 
count of unnecessary extension of the materials, the kind purpose 
for which the publication was undertaken pleaded his excuse with 



480 APPENDIX. 

all who are capable of feeling its force. Its success fully equal- 
led the most sanguine expectations. — Repeated editions produ- 
ced a balance of profit which formed a little fortune for the des- 
titute family; and Dr. Currie might congratulate himself on 
having been one of the most effectual friends of departed genius 
that the annals of British poetry record. 

Every plan for promoting liberal studies and the improvement 
of the human mind had in him a zealous and active supporter. 
In the formation of those literary institutions which have done 
so much honour to the town of Liverpool, he, with his intimate 
and congenial friend, the distinguished author of the Lives of 
Lorenzo de' Medici and Leo X., stood among the foremost ; and 
their names were always conjoined when mention was made of 
the AVo,rth and talents which dignified their place of abode. No 
cultivated traveller visited liiverpool without soliciting Dr. Cur- 
rie's acquaintance, and his reception of those introduced to him 
was eminently polite and hospitable. 

In his Life of Burns, remarking ujfon that partiality for their 
own country which appears almost universally in the natives of 
Scotland, he has observed, that "it differs in its character ac- 
cording to the character of the different minds in which it is 
found ; in some appearing a selfish prejudice, in others a gene- 
rous affection." He was himself a striking exemplification of 
this fact; for the sentiment in him was principally shown in the 
kindness with which he received all his young countrymen who 
came recommended to his notice, and the zeal with which he ex- 
erted himself to procure them situations suited to their qualifi- 
cations. Indeed, a disposition in general to favour the progress 
of deserving young persons was a prominent feature in his cha- 
racter. He loved to converse with them, and mingled valuable 
information with cheering encouragement. 

Though externally of a vigorous frame of body. Dr. Currie had 
a predisposition to those complaints which usually shorten life j 
and in the year 1784 he had experienced a pulmonary attack of 
an alarming nature, from which he was extraordinarily recovered 
b}^ the use of horse-exercise, as related by himself in his case in- 
serted in the second volume of Dr. Darwin's Zoonomia. He was, 
however, seldom long free from threatenings of a return, and his 
health began visibly to decline in the early part of 1804. In the 
summer of that year he took a journey to Scotland, where among 
other sources of gratification he had that of witnessing the happy 



APPENDIX. 481 

effects of his kindness on the family of Burns. His letters on 
this occasion were delightful displays of benevolence rejoicing 
in its work. He returned with some temporary amendment ; 
but alarming symptoms soon returned, and in November he 
found it necessary to quit the climate and business of Liverpool. 
How severely his departure was felt by those who had been ac- 
customed to commit their health and that of their families to his 
skill and tenderness, ean only be estimated by those who have 
experienced a similar loss. He spent the winter alternately at 
Clifton and Bath; and in the month of March appeared to him- 
self in a state of convalescence which justified his taking a house 
in Bath, and commencing the practice of his profession. From 
the manner in which his career opened, there could be no doubt 
that it would have proved eminently successful ; but the con- 
cluding scene was hastily approaching. As a last resource he 
went in August to Sidmouth, where, after much suffering, which 
he bore with manly fortitude and pious resignation, he expired 
on August 31st, 180J, in the 50th year of his age. His disease 
was ascertained to be a great enlargement and flaccidity of the 
heart, accompanied with remarkable wastings of the left lung 
but without ulceration, tubercle, or abscess. 

Few men have left the world with a more amiable and estima- 
ble character, proved in every relation of life public and domes- 
tic. In his professional conduct he was upright, liberal, and 
honourable, with much sensibility for his patients without the af- 
fectation of it ; fair and candid towards his brethren of the fa- 
culty ; and though usually decided in his opinion, yet entirely 
free from arrogance or dogmatism. His behaviour was singularly 
calculated to convert rivals into friends ; and some of those who 
regarded him with the greatest esteem and affection have been 
the persons who divided practice with him. To his character in 
this point a most honourable testimony has been given in a short 
article inserted in a Bath newspaper by the worthy and learned 
Dr. Falconer. His powers of mind were of the highest rank, 
equally fitted for action and speculation : his morals were pure; 
his principles exalted. His life, though much too short to satisfy 
the wishes of his friends and family, was long enough for signal 
usefulness and for lasting fame. 



3P 



482 APPENDIX. 



(H. p. 145.) 
MEMOIR 

OF 

MR. WALKER. 



THE Rev. GEORGE WALKER, F. R. S. whose death has 
been sincerely lamented by a number of affectionate relatives 
and friends, was born about the year 1734, at Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne, in which town his father was a respectable tradesman. He 
was sent at an early age to the free-school of his native place 
then under the care of the Rev. Dr. Moises. In this seminary he 
gave very early tokens of an uncommon capacity for literary 
acquirements; and passed some years with the advantage that 
might be expected under a master whose professional reputation 
was very high, and whose success in instruction has been proved 
by the eminence to which several of his pupils have risen, among 
whom may be enumerated the present Lord Chancellor, and his 
brother Sir Wm. Scott. It may be interesting to mention that 
Mr. Walker, four years before his death, visited his first vene- 
rable instructor, then in extreme old age, who gave him a most 
cordial reception, and spoke of him as one whom he had a pride 
iii numbering among his scholars, and who had fully realised his 
expectation concerning his future proficiency. 

At the age of ten, he was sent to his uncle, the Rev. Thomas 
Walker,* a dissenting minister of great respectability at Dur- 
ham, who had hitherto directed his education, and continued to 
superintend it, with the view of fitting him for his own profes- 



• This gentleman, though highly esteemed among his brethren, was known to the 
public only by a single sermon preached at the opening of the new meeting at 
Wakefield in the year 1752. 



APPENDIX. 483 

sion. Ill this city he pursued his classical studies in the gram- 
mar-school, then flourishing under a head-master of great abili- 
ties, whom his scholar always recollected with a kind of enthu- 
siastic veneration. He was thoroughly grounded in the Greek 
and Latin languages, and was, besides furnished with much ge- 
neral knowledge from his uncle's instructions, when he was re- 
moved to the university of Edinburgh. He was there a pupil of 
that eminent mathematician Dr. Matthew Stewart, from whom 
he imbibed that pure and elegant taste in mathematical specula- 
tions, by which both tutor and pupil have been so much distin- 
guished. He did not, however, find this school favourable to 
those theological studies on which his mind was principally bent; 
and he removed to the university of Glasgow, then in reputation 
for its lectures in divinity and moral philosophy, and there com- 
pleted his education. 

Mr. Walker's first settlement as a minister was at Durham, 
about the year 1756, as successor to his uncle, who had removed 

to LiCeds. He continue J theic about seven yoav^, and then ac- 
cepted an invitation to Great Yarmouth. Of the general respect 
and esteem which he enjoyed in that place during a residence of 
several years, there are many still living witnesses. Few men, 
indeed, have been better qualified to shine and interest in soci- 
ciety. Well acquainted with all the best authors, especially in 
history, ancient and modern ; accustomed to free and enlarged 
discussion of topics of the greatest importance to mankind; and 
gifted with a warm and copious eloquence ; he attracted general 
notice and deference in conversation. At the same time, his 
thoroughly amiable and benevolent disposition, his cheerful, open, 
and companionable nature, and his unaffected simplicity, endear- 
ed him in an uncommon degree to all within the sphere of his 
intimacy. He married at Yarmouth in 1772, and not long after 
removed to Warrington, as mathematical tutor in the academy 
at that place. 

To the affection and regard which he inspired in the breasts 
of all with whom he was connected in that institution, I can bear 
a heartfelt testimony ; and 1 had the happiness of being one of 
the social circle to which he imparted so much animation. He 
had, unfortunately, too much cause to be dissatisfied by the fail- 
ure of the moderate expectations of emolument which were held 
out to him on his removal. I know not that biaine was imputa- 
ble to any individual on this account; but, in fact, the alma mater 



484 APPENDIX. 

of Warrington was ever a niggardly recompenscr of the distin- 
guished abilities and virtues whicli were enlisted in her service. 
Mr. Walker, while a single man, had exercised a prudent econo- 
my, which had enabled him to collect a valuable library, and also 
to indulge his taste for prints, of which he possessed a number 
of specimens from the early Italian and other masters, purchased 
with judgment, and at a price greatly inferior to that which they 
at present bear. As a house-keeper, his inclination led him to a 
boundless hospitality; and though his personal habits of life 
were simple and unexpensive, in the calls of charity and of so- 
cial entertainment he knew no stint. At what period he became 
a fellow of the Royal Society, I am uninformed ; but he was so 
when he printed at Warrington his Doctrine of the Sphere, a 4to. 
volume, published in \775, with many plates of a peculiar con- 
struction, and which cost much labour. This is considered by 
the best judges as a very complete treatise on the subject, and 
an example of the purest method of geometrical demonstration. 

He removed, about the beginning of 1 77.'i, to Nottingham, to 
occupy the station of one of the ministers of the High Pavement 
meeting. This town was the place of his longest residence, and 
the scene of his principal activity and usefulness as a public chu 
racier. Mr. Walker had long been a deep thinker upon political 
subjects, and had imbibed, with all the ardour and decision of 
his character, those principles of civil and religious liberty which, 
are by many regarded as fundamental to a free constitution, and 
of the highest importance to human society. Nottingham is one 
of the few places in this kingdom in which such principles are 
allied to municipal power and magistracy; he had therefore a 
large field for extending the influence of his knowledge and elo- 
quence over public assemblies. As the period of his residence 
there comprehended the whole of the American war, the efforts 
made for the reform of parliament, the first applications for the 
abolition of the slave trade, and the discussion of various other 
important points, — his advice and assistance were frequently 
called for in the political measures adopted by the town and cor- 
poration of Nottingham ; and nearly all the petitions which at 
different times were thence addressed to the king and the house 
of commons were the productions of his pen, and were marked 
with his characteristic energy of language and sentiment. One 
of these, the petition for recognising American independence, 
made such an impression on the mind of Mr. Burke, then a dis- 



APPENDIX. 485 

tinguishecl champion of the same cause, that in the debate con- 
sequent upon it he declared he had rather have been the author 
of that piece than of all his own compositions. Although, in the 
contest of parties, the zeal and warmth of Mr. Walker nacessa- 
rily gave much occasional oiFence to persons in opposite inter- 
ests, yet the kindness of his heart, and the even playful ease and 
cheerfulness of his social conversation, softened animosity, and 
would not permit those to hate the man, who hated his princi- 
ples. It is needless to add, that by those who agreed with him 
in sentiments he was beloved and valued to the borders of en 
thusiasm. 

The death of some of his most intimate friends, and the pros- 
pect of extending his usefulness in a different sphere of action, 
induced him, after a residence of 24 years at Nottingham, to ac- 
cept the post of theological tutor and superintendant of the dis- 
senting academy at Manchester, which was in some degree the 
successor of that at Warrington, though upon a more contracted 
scale. Although, i»' point of oxtont of knowlprlgft, and disinter- 
ested zeal 1» ijerforming the duties of his office, Mr. Walkerwas 
excellently qualified for such a situation, yet it must be confessed 
that an habitual want of punctuality, and a forgetfulness of en- 
gagements occasioned by the ardour with which he entered into 
any present subject of meditation or discussion, were unfavour- 
able to the maintenance of that order and discipline which are 
essential to an institution for education. His advancing years 
likewise rendered the labours of such a charge more onerous to 
him ; and at the same time the institution was languishing under 
some external causes of decline. At length, the whole burthen 
of theological, classical, and mathematical tuition having fallen 
upon him, he found himself unequal to the task, and finally re- 
signed his office. It should be added, that during his residence 
at Manchester, he was an active member of the Literary and 
Philosophical Society of that Place, before which he read seve- 
ral papers, and which, upon the decease of Dr. Percival, chose 
him for its president. 

His final removal was to the village of Wavertree, near Liver- 
pool, which situation was selected by him on account of its vicin- 
ity to some warm and congenial friends, with whom he hoped to 
spend the tranquil evening of his days. His principal employ- 
ment here was to revise and put in order his various composi- 
tions both printed and manuscript. He had published several 



486 APPENDIX. 

single sermons on particular occasions while at Nottingham, and. 
had printed two volumes of sermons in 1790. These were all 
distinguished by singular spirit and vivacity of expression, and a 
manly, fervid, and original cast of thought. He had also writ- 
ten an .Qppeal to the People of England upon the subject of the 
test laws, which was considered as a piece of peculiar excellence 
by that liberal and enlightened statesman, the late Mr. Fox. 
Besides his work on the Sphere, he had published the first part 
of a Treatise of Conic Sections, a work worthy of his mathema- 
tical reputation.* The re-publication of his Sermons, with the 
addition of two more volumes, and also of two volumes of Philo- 
losophical Essays, was an important concern which brought him 
to London in the spring of the year 1807. 

Soon after his arrival I was favoured with a visit from him, of 
great cordiality, in which he pathetically observed that we two 
were the only remaining relics of the Warrington academical 
society. Indeed, it has been my lot, since the year 1797, to la- 
ment in private, and publicly i^ coxn»».»«Q.4>rafe. three distinguish- 
ed members of the same fraternity, (Dr. Enfield, Dr Priestley, 
and Mr. Wakefield) besides the excellent person who now em- 
ploys my pen. Mr. Walker appeared to me not at all declined 
in health and spirits since last 1 saw him, though with some 
marks of increased age. He himself, however, was probably 
conscious of more debility than was apparent ; for he dropped 
several expressions denoting that he did not expect long to sur- 
vive. He was soon after attacked with what seemed to be a se- 
vere lumbago, which rendered motion extremely painful, and fix- 
ed him, at first, to his chair, and then to his^bed. His recollec- 
tion at the same time became sensibly impaired, and, at length, 
totally left him. Under these symptoms he rapidly sunk; and 



* TJie following reraaikable circumst' nee relative lo this work has been related 
to me by W. Frend, Esq. Whin Mr. Frend was in Germany, he accidentally met 
with a copy of a Treatise on Conic Sections, by Father Boscovich, with -which he 
was so much pleased, that on his return he made it the foundation ot the lectures on 
that subject which he gave as a public tutor in the Uni?ersity of Cambridge. When 
he los( that situation, he presented hiS mathematical papers to his successor, the Rev. 
Mr. Newton, who drew up a work on Conic Sections upon the plan thus derived 
from Boscovich. This was oft'ered to tlie university press just at the time when Mr. 
Walkrr presented to the curators an original work on that subject for the same pur- 
pose. This was found so much to resemble the other (though Mr. W. had cer- 
tainly never seen the work of Boscovich,) that the univeisity thought it superfluous 
in print both, and naturally gave the preference to that of its own member. 



APPENDIX. 48r 

on the morning of April 21st, after an act of fervent prayer, ex- 
pressed by his folded hands when the power of articulation was 
nearly gone, he calmly resigned his soul to his Maker. From 
the house of his kind friend and former pupil, Mr Smith of Dra- 
per's-hall with whom he had been a guest, his remains were car- 
ried, with a respectable attendance of friends, for interment in 
Bunhill -fields. He left a widow, together with one son, and a 
daughter married to Sir George Cayley, Bart, of Brompton- 
house, near Scarborough. 

I cannot close this account without adding a sketch of Mr. 
Walker's character from the masterly hand of a friend who re- 
sembled him in several striking features, the late Gilbert Wake- 
field. In his Memoirs, after giving a just estimate of Mr. Walk- 
er's intellectual talents and attainments, he thus proceeds: " But 
these qualifications, great and estimable as they are, constitute 
but a mean portion of his praise. Art thou looking, reader ! like 
iEsop in the fable, for a man ? Dost thou want an intrepid spi- 
rit in the cause of truth, liberty, and virtue — an undeviating rec- 
titude of action — a boundless hospitality — a mind infinitely su- 
perior to every sensation of malice and resentment — a breast 
susceptible of the truest friendship, and overflowing with the milk 
of human kindness — an ardour, an enthusiasm, in laudable pur- 
suits, characteristic of magnanimity — an unwearied assiduity, 
even to his own hindrance, in public service ? My experience 
can assure thee, that thy pursuit may cease, thy doubts be ban- 
ished, and thy hopes realised : for this is the man." 

To such praise, which honours equally the giver and the re- 
ceiver, it would be impertinent to make any other addition than 
a testimony of its justice. 



THE END. 



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